


Esme's Human

by FrancescaFiona



Category: True Blood (TV), Twilight (Movies), Twilight Series - All Media Types, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: 1920s New York, AVL, Best-friends Fluff, Crime Thriller, F/F, F/M, Graphic Gory Violence, Murder, Possibly Exploitative Same-Sex Relationship, Prohibition, Roaring Twenties, Same-Sex Partnership, Speakeasies, Suffrage Movement, Vampire Authority, Vampire Mainstreaming, Vampire/Human Relationships, Vampires, Volturi, Women's Rights, domestic abuse, drinking while pregnant, vampire weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2019-06-13 14:33:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 32,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15366750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrancescaFiona/pseuds/FrancescaFiona
Summary: *Now Completed!*“But I’m already Nan’s human,” Esme whispered.“No,” said Edward forcefully. “No you are not. You are ESME’S human and you will do as you please.”Everyone knows the story of Carlisle and Esme, but what if he hadn’t been the first vampire that she ever met? What if someone else got there first…and was thwarted?This is the story of how Esme found freedom from abuse through the Vampire community and how the Mainstreaming movement was started by the passion of the young human Suffragette, wait, apologies, SUFFRAGIST, in 1920s New York……Alternatively, the story of bitter hatred between Carlisle Cullen and Nan Flanagan and the aching question that will always remain: who deserved Esme more?…How about YOU decide?Rated M for a reason.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Right, where to begin?
> 
> So, recently, I have been thinking quite a lot about equality for women (don’t get me started and, yes, I am female myself) and so I decided to come back to this fic that I started a few months ago.
> 
> This was actually meant to be a prequel to a fic series I wrote but haven’t uploaded which is based in the True Blood universe so the characteristics of vampires are True Blood-based.
> 
> This whole idea came about because flickawhip wrote a short Nan Flanagan/Esme fic and when I thought about it I was like “yeah…that’s actually feasible” so I’m using the idea to make a statement about Suffrage and female empowerment, I guess. 
> 
> Furthermore, though there is nothing too explicit, please for God’s sake don’t read this if you find the idea of homosexuality uncomfortable.
> 
> This first part is Carlisle/Esme and it’s pretty cute, though with a horrific turn of events at the end - one that is understandable if you guys are familiar with Esme’s backstory (you’ll be happy to know that Carlisle and Edward are lovely to her). There are also some upsetting scenes, though I have tried to make them brief.
> 
> And to clarify, Esme and Beatrice are the same person - ‘Esme’ is Carlisle’s Esme and ‘Bea' is Nan’s Esme. Plus ‘Roman Zimojic’ is the leader of the Authority which is the Vampire government that Nan works for. Also I have used ‘Platt’ as Esme’s married name and the cliff that Mrs Platt jumps off may not actually exist in Seattle (I don’t know, I've never been) so just roll with it.
> 
> Lastly, Esme’s abusive husband Charles meets a rather untimely death, so y’all can play ‘Whodunnit’ while you read the fic.
> 
> Enjoy! ;)

 

**Seattle, January 1921**

 

The tang of blood was overwhelming, even with the door closed. What had happened was fairly obvious. Why or even _how,_ was less so.

 

Nevertheless, the intrepid Detective Peters opened the door to find out. He immediately slammed it shut again.

 

“Johnson, Parry,” he said to his young new recruits, face taut. “I want you two to wait outside by the motor car.”

“Sir?” Parry, the bolder of the two, asked.

“Please,” Peters said thickly. “I don’t want this to be your first body.”

 

Looking confused, the pair retreated, leaving the more hardened officers to go inside.

 

With a gag, Detective Brice understood why this crime wasn’t suitable for the younger men’s eyes.

 

“Fuck,” he swore, allowing his brain to compute the fact that the colour on the walls was not put there by paintbrush.

 

But what lay in the middle of the room was perhaps more horrifying. The _solids._

 

“What on God’s Earth?” whispered another officer, eyes wide with perhaps a delayed reaction.

Later he would be sobbing.

 

“Gents,” said Peters solemnly, calling on every ounce of strength that he possessed. “Lets keep the cameras out of this one. The public doesn’t need to see this.”

 

 

 

**Seattle, August 1921**

 

 

 Dr Cullen received the letter just as he was planning to go to sleep for the day.

He felt a twist in his gut when he saw the sender’s name. 

 

Angela Flanagan.

 

 

  _Dear Dr Cullen,_

_Roman Zimojic informed me of the turning your new progeny, Edward, and I whole-heartedly congratulate you on your new maker-hood. However, you are not the only one who has found meaning through others._

 

_There is a human, by the name of Beatrice Platt, who has recently moved to Seattle from New York. She is mine and I intend to make her my progeny. Unfortunately, she is married to a very abusive man and I fear for her safety; I cannot protect her myself as the Authority is based in New York._

 

_I bring up, again, the fact that I once spared your human life, and I now demand that this particular dept be paid. You will make contact with Mrs Platt via the hospital, which she will attend during her pregnancy, and you will protect her until which time as I come to collect her._

 

_The safety of Mrs Platt is of the upmost importance and if any harm befalls her, from her husband or otherwise, I can promise you there will be hell to pay._

 

_Hope you are well,_

 

_Yours sincerely,_

 

_Nan Flanagan._

 

 

 

Carlisle put his golden head in his hands. That was just _typical_. Nan Flanagan never seemed to _quite_ appreciate the … _enormity_ of the tasks that she set people. How the _hell_ was he meant to _find_ this woman? And how the hell did she expect him to _make contact_ with her or _protect_ her? _He_ couldn’t go out in the sun either!

 

Sensing his maker’s distress, Edward came to find Carlisle.

 

“Carlisle” he said in his lilting voice. “What news does the letter bring?”

Carlisle thrust the letter at Edward.

“Here Edward. An education for you. _This_ is the Authority.”

 

Edward skimmed the letter.

“But…but that’s completely unreasonable!” he spluttered with the indignation of youth. “How does this woman expect you to-”

Carlisle sighed in frustration.

“Because she is a great deal older and stronger than me, that’s why.”

Edward’s brow furrowed.

“That’s how our world works, Edward,” said Carlisle with another sigh. “This is what I’ve been trying to explain to you.”

“So, you’ll find her then?” asked Edward, shaken that anyone could tell his _Maker_ what to do. “This…Beatrice?”

“Guess I’ll have to, won’t I?’

 

Carlisle rubbed his hand over his face.

 

“Christ,” he muttered. “She hasn’t even told me what she _looks_ like!”

“Perhaps we could send a telegram and ask her?”

 

Carlisle snorted.

“We could try, but I doubt her answer would be very forthcoming.”

 

Carlisle arranged his face into a sneer.

“I don’t think that that information will be necessary,” he mimicked, not entirely inaccurately.

 

“So,” said Edward carefully. “How…are you going to locate her?”

Carlisle threw his hands up.

“Edward, if you have any suggestions I’d love to hear them. I have honestly no clue.”

 

In a rare stroke of luck…which could have even been called fate, Carlisle did _not_ have to search for Beatrice because she was sitting the very next evening in the waiting room of his clinic. He ran the clinic in the evenings so that people could come after work (and so he didn’t burst into flames on his way there).

 

“Mrs Platt!” he called, trying to keep the note of excitement out of his voice. This had to be her. How many pregnant Mrs Beatrice Platts could there be in Seattle?

 

The first thing that he noticed was that Mrs Platt was alone, which was unusual. The second was that she looked extremely worn and in need of a good square meal. The third was that she was… _beautiful._

 

“Please,” he said, ushering her inside the examination room. “Take a seat.”

 

Her movements looked pained and it took every ounce of his strength not to scoop her into his strong vampire-arms so she didn’t have to make the effort.

 

“Thank you doctor,” she said, lowering herself and her swollen belly into the chair.

 

The seventh month of pregnancy looked much more impressive on Beatrice than it did on other women. Probably since she was just so _tiny._

 

“Now…” Carlisle reached for his pen. “You were wanting to register with the clinic, correct?”

“Yes, doctor.”

“And, do you have your existing medical records?”

The woman shook her head, causing her hair to wave like ripples of toffee.

 

Carlisle permitted himself to stare.

 

“I, well I haven’t been to a doctor about the baby before,” she said, a note of anxiety in her voice. “I was going to just…well I came because I thought…”

 

To Carlisle’s horror, the woman’s huge almond-shaped eyes began to fill with tears.

 

“I just hope he’s alright!” she sobbed.

 

“I’m sure he’s fine,” said Carlisle soothingly, offering the woman a clean handkerchief.

“If I can just take your details then I can have a look…if you are comfortable, that is.”

 

He didn’t want Beatrice to feel pushed. She was here by herself, shut in a room with a strange man for goodness sake! She must be very brave…

 

 _Or very desperate,_ thought Carlisle, remembering the one detail that Ms Flanagan had, rather callously, offered of her home situation.

 

She nodded.

 

“My name is Mrs Beatrice Esme Platt. My husband is Charles John Platt and we live at 14 New Way.”

 

Beatrice watched in fascination as Dr Cullen’s hand dashed across the page, perhaps a little _too_ quickly.

 

“Esme,” he said. “That’s a beautiful name!”

She gave a dimpled smile and Carlisle felt his chest constrict.

 

“Thank you doctor, so is Carlisle,” she nodded her head towards an envelope that was out on the desk.

He was impressed that she had noticed.

“Thank you,” he replied, finding this Beatrice quite disarming. 

But not in a bad way.

“You are welcome to call me Carlisle if that will make this more comfortable.”

 

He gestured to the examination chair.

 

Arduously, she lifted herself up. Carlisle drew the curtains to offer privacy in case anyone came barging in (which his forbidding secretary occasionally liked to do).

 

He made a show of taking her heartbeat, with the stethoscope that he did not need and then felt the glands in her neck. He felt her pulse dancing under his fingertips, quickening, she obviously wasn’t completely comfortable with his touching her.

 

This part of his job gave Carlisle huge satisfaction. Feeling the tug of his body towards the blood and resisting it made him feel like a conqueror.

 

“Alright then, Mrs Platt. You don’t appear to have any infections and your heart rate seems fairly normal. What in particular were you concerned about with regards to the child?”

 

Looking as though she would rather do _anything_ else, Beatrice slowly undid the dress buttons at her abdomen as explanation. 

 

 _Oh…blimey_ , thought Carlisle as he saw the blotched, bruised skin over the bump.

 

Carlisle kept his face professionally blank. The last thing Mrs Platt needed was to know how bad the prospect now was for this baby.

 

“Mrs Platt,” Carlisle said slowly. “How did this happen?”

“I…I had an accident,” she whispered, eyes wide with terror for the tiny being. “But is he alright? My baby?”

Carlisle ran his cold hand over the area carefully. Beatrice gasped between clenched teeth.

“Apologies Mrs Platt. Um, has there been any…bleeding?”

Beatrice shook her head.

“Well,” he said. “That’s good news. The bad news is that an…injury such as this often results in complications. You’ll need regular checkups to monitor the progress of the pregnancy.”

 

Mrs Platt looked down, ashamed.

“Dr Cullen, I…well my husband and I are saving money at the moment. I don’t know if we can afford-”

“You won’t need to,” said Carlisle quickly, disgusted that anyone would beat his wife and then deny her the medical treatment she needed, even to save their child’s life. 

“There is a clinic fund for those who are in your situation,” he lied artfully. “You will not be expected to pay for any of your visits or treatment.”

 

Beatrice raised her eyebrows. Now why would the handsome doctor lie to her? Oh, right. _That’s_ what he wanted. Reserved or not, she knew how pretty she was. Men all wanted the same thing.

 

Offended, and a little scared, Beatrice did up her dress buttons quickly and rolled herself off the bed.

 

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to decline, Dr Cullen,” she snapped. “Though I wish you all the best with your search for another woman who you believe will sell herself to you.”

 

 _Whoa!_ Thought Carlisle. _Now_ _there’s_ _Nan Flanagan’s progeny_.

 

“No!” he said quickly. “That’s not the point! I…I was just trying to help!”

His argument sounded weak even to his own ears faced with this woman’s sceptical raised eyebrow.

 

“Well, thank you, doctor, but I have all the help I need,” said Beatrice coldly.

And with that she snatched her personal details out of Carlisle’s hand, grabbed her coat and exited the room stormily.

 

And Carlisle just watched her go. Which was pathetic really, but he didn’t know what to do. He…he should say something!

 

He dithered halfway to the door. He really should walk her home. She was alone after all. He shivered to think of the things that could happen to a woman with a face like _that_ on the streets of Seattle after dark. But she would never permit him to do so!

 

Wait, never mind, neither of them had a choice. 

 

Remembering his assignment, he walked to the reception.

 

“Er, Mrs Jackson?” Carlisle began carefully, as if _he_ were the human female employee and not the ancient vampire.

The secretary eyed him sternly.

“Since Mrs Platt was the last patient of the evening,” he said, face apologetic in the face of such a _look._ “I’m just popping out for a bit, I’ll be back soon.”

“I hope you’re not trailing after the Platt woman…” said Mrs Jackson sternly.

 

She gave gave Carlisle a knowing glare over the top of her wire-rimmed spectacles. She’d had him pinned as a secret romantic from the start. 

“You know it’s her own fault that she’s got herself in this sort of trouble,” she said without sympathy. “In my day a woman wouldn’t have _dared_ to betray her husband like that.”

 

The husband!

 

Carlisle sprinted, as slowly as he could bring himself, out of the door.

Mrs Jackson tutted.

“And there he goes,” she muttered. “She’ll be the _undoing_ of him, I’m certain _.”_

 

 _New way,_ thought Carlisle, remembering the address that Mrs Platt had given him.

 

He knew the way to that street, it wasn’t actually very far from the clinic.

 

Slowing his pace so as not to draw too much attention to himself, Carlisle scanned the street for Beatrice’s distinctive hair. And he found it. 

 

And it was being followed.

 

Carlisle scurried into the shadows and tailed Beatrice and her pursuer, noticing how the little woman’s steps were quickening. He supposed she knew she was being trailed. For a horrible moment, Carlisle wondered if Beatrice, or Esme as he was starting to think of her, thought that it was _he_ who was behind her.

 

The man was gaining in her and at last he grabbed her.

 

“NAN! _HELP!”_ screamed Beatrice and for a breathless second she thought that her plea had been answered as a blond-haired figure _smacked_ into the man with the diagnostic speed of a vampire.

 

It was only as the vampire had the man pinned against the wall, that Beatrice recognised him as no other than _Dr Cullen._

 

Beatrice had seen Nan Flanagan in action and had a pretty good idea of what would come next. Squeamish, she closed her eyes but instead of the cheerful snapping of bone, she heard the Doctor speaking clearly to the man in his soothing voice.

 

“Human, you will remember nothing of me, or this woman.”

 

The fire-like burning in the doctor’s eyes was the only visible symptom of his fury.

 

“You will return home,” he continued. “If you have one, and you will never, _ever_ think the thoughts that led you to this woman ever again. You will find an honest job, if you do not have one, and you will strive to improve the world in which you live, rather than to _defile_ it. I pray for your soul, but the only true redemption must come from _you_. Now, we are going to leave, and when we disappear from view, you will be a changed man. Do you understand?”

 

The man nodded, his stare vacant.

 

“Good,” said the doctor.

 

Then he turned to Beatrice. 

 

He was poised to stifle her scream, or to catch her if she fainted but instead she merely stared at him…and uttered perhaps the _dirtiest_ world he had heard a woman use in his three-hundred years of life.

 

 Once _Carlisle_ had recovered from the use of the profanity, the practicalities were taken care of. 

 

The trip back to the Platt residence was brief to say the least.

 

Beatrice was allowed the time it took for Carlisle to write a very blunt letter to Mr Platt to explain why his wife had been removed, to gather up anything that she would not want to leave behind. Mrs Platt was never coming back. And she was _delighted._

 

“Okey dokey!” said Beatrice brightly, unafraid of the doctor, as he gently offered to let her stay with him.

 

Carlisle was fascinated with her.

 

“So…Es-Mrs Platt, you…don’t seem very afraid of me. Why is that?” he asked kindly as they walked through the streets after he had closed up the clinic.

“Because I’ve met worse,” answered Bea truthfully. “And it’s against your laws for you to harm me because I’ve been claimed. I’m someone else’s human. Her name’s Nan Flanagan, if you know her?”

 

She looked at Carlisle expectantly.

 

“We are…old acquaintances, yes,” said Carlisle uncomfortably. “I do know who you mean.”

Beatrice beamed.

“Isn’t she just _wonderful?_ ”

Carlisle was alarmed.

“She’s…well yes, she really is something quite special…”

Bea wandered along next to Carlisle happily.

“Now that I’m not going back to Charles, Nan can come and find me.”

 

Carlisle was struck by the sudden and very strong urge to take this human in his arms and hide her from Nan Flanagan. All this ‘claimed’ and ‘mine’ and ‘collecting’ business made it seem awfully like Esme, sorry, _Beatrice,_ was just a…a _thing._

 

Carlisle took Bea back to his home and as soon as he opened the door, the tinkling of a piano could be heard. It was beautiful.

 

“Beatrice,” said Carlisle softly as the musician appeared, looking puzzled. “This is my progeny, Edward. I turned him into a vampire only four years ago.”

“Well how do you do!” cried Bea, looking at Edward fondly enough to cause Carlisle a sudden and inexplicable stab of panic. “I’m Beatrice Esme Platt!”

“Esme,” mumbled Edward. “That’s a beautiful name.”

Beatrice turned to Carlisle and smiled.

 

God she was _lovely._

 

“That’s just what you said, Carlisle!” she said. “You could call me that if you like.”

Edward grinned boyishly at Carlisle.

“Sure, _Esme,”_

She giggled.

 

“Alright,” said Carlisle firmly. “I’m sure Miss Esme’s had enough excitement for one day, she’d benefit from a bit of rest, I think.”

He gently steered Bea out of the living room and to the tiny spare room, his fingertips electric on the back of her shirt.

 

After he had settled her in and given her midriff a last, worried look, he walked back to Edward.

 

“So,” Edward said. “Looks like you found her.”

For some reason Edward’s handsome face made Carlisle feel…well a bit irritable.

“Edward,” said Carlisle seriously. “I think…in all probability Esme’s going to lose that baby. Her husband…”

He trailed off, struck by a pang of vampiric bloodthirstiness that hadn’t bothered him for years now. 

 

Edward was extremely intuitive, so much so that Carlisle often didn’t bother to finish his sentences around him. He was practically a mind reader.

 

“He still abuses her?”

“Yes, and badly. I understand that an existence with Flanagan may have seemed like a good alternative, an escape.”

“So…will you write to her and tell her you found who she was looking for?”

“I…”

 

 _Would_ he? Somehow he felt that that shouldn’t happen. Besides, poor sweet Esme was just being used. 

 

“I’ll think about it,” said Carlisle. “I won’t immediately. If Esme loses the baby on my watch, whether it was preventable or not, it will be my fault.”

 

“And if you didn’t find her in time it will be your fault too,” offered Edward, understanding the dynamics of the situation.

 

Carlisle nodded.

 

“Right,” sighed Edward. “I’m off to hunt. Are you coming?”

Carlisle shook his head resolutely.

“I’m going to stay with Esme,” he said. “Just in case.”

 

“Alright then,” said the teen, ruffling his electric hair. “Fair thee well,” 

Edward bowed.

“And don’t worry,” he said seriously at the door. “She’s all yours.”

 

What on _Earth?_ Thought Carlisle. _M-mine?_

 

 While Carlisle was left to ponder Edward's parting words, Beatrice dreamed of the handsome doctor. It was a strange dream.

She was in this tree…for some reason, then she fell, and her leg broke…except the tree turned into _Nan_ with her fangs out… _She_ had broken Bea’s leg because…well because she _could._ Then… _Carlisle_ appeared and spoke to it in that calm voice and it fixed. Good as new.

 

She opened her eyes groggily. Where was she. It smelled strange. 

She leant up in bed, hearing mumbled voices.

 

“Oh she’s awake now. _Well done_ Carlisle. What it she heard us?”

“Keep your damn voice down!”

 

Bea was fascinated.

 

Their voices dropped too low for her to hear.

 

She padded into the kitchen in her nightgown to ask them what was going on.

 

Both men stopped dead when they saw her, stunned.

The doctor, despite having seen more of some people than even _they_ had, gawped for the smallest of seconds.

 

“Oh, um sorry,” mumbled Bea, embarrassed. Perhaps she’d dash and fetch her dressing gown.

“No!” said Carlisle quickly, ashamed of himself. “Come! I’ll make you breakfast!”

 

Bea watched Carlisle and Edward dance around each other in the small kitchen making her the most delicious, and definitely edible breakfast. They were clearly a _team._ With newly-opened eyes to the ways of the world, Bea came to the conclusion that Edward had been _Carlisle’s_ human before he’d turned him. The two of them did seem very close. For some reason that made her…sad, though she wished the kind doctor, and his progeny all the happiness in the world.

 

“Wow!” said Bea as Edward plopped a plate of french toast in front of her with a flourish. 

“Jam?” he asked. “We have strawberry or apricot.”

“Well I’d love strawberry, but you’re a doctor Carlisle? Aren’t you supposed to tell me not to eat jam?”

Carlisle grinned and slathered quite a lot of jam on Bea’s food.

“I’m not your mother,” he said. “And I think that you are definitely old enough and clever enough to make your own decisions.”

He smiled with a mock patronising expression.

 

She bit into the bread.

“Mmmm,” she said, eyes bright. “Edward this is delicious!”

He bowed his head modestly.

“Well, I was human until not so long ago,” he said. “You must be older than I am.”

 

Bea considered the two vampires. Edward was…in his late teens or early twenties maybe, and Carlisle in his mid-to late thirties, probably about eight or so years older than she was. Maybe it was common for vampires to have younger humans. Bea shook her head, let’s be real here, against Nan’s _seven hundred_ years, _their_ age difference was practically negligible.

 

“Maybe a little,” allowed Bea shyly. “But what’s it like? Being a new vampire, just so I know.”

Edward chuckled. Carlisle didn’t.

“It really depends on your maker. I was lucky with Carlisle but even though he’s so kind, it’s difficult.”

“Do you miss the sun?”

“Yes, but…it’s better than being dead, which is where I would be if Carlisle hadn’t saved me.”

 

“Yes,” said Carlisle. “I don’t think that I would ever change someone if they didn’t have another choice. I feel…this life is a damnation of such. A sentence to evil.”

“But you help people,” said Bea quietly.

“I try to,” nodded Carlisle. “And I also feed on the blood of animals, not humans.”

“Whoa,” said Bea, her little eyebrows tracking upwards in shock. _“Nan_ never mentioned that as an option.”

“I’m sure she didn’t,” said Carlisle darkly. 

He recovered himself.

“I have never actually bitten a human, except to change Edward here.”

 

“Oh,” Bea said. “Well you should try it. It’s really good!”

She blushed, embarrassed.

“Did…did Ms Flanagan feed from you?” Carlisle asked gently, slightly disgusted.

Bea nodded.

“I wondered if one day she might change me but she said it was fun having me as a human and in any case she might need more bait in the future.”

 

Carlisle’s jaw dropped. Flanagan did … _what? B-bait?_ The _… exploitation!_

 

Bea continued to jabber away happily to Edward about her Suffrage group while Carlisle made a very brave decision. New plan, to hell with Flanagan, he was saving Esme.

 

“Do you have a way to contact Nan?” asked Bea excitedly, breaking Carlisle out of his somewhat horrified daze. “I’ll write and tell her where I am! She’ll be thrilled!”

 

The image in Carlisle’s head of Flanagan bundling sweet Esme into a motor car and driving her away to use for _God only knows_ what purpose, made his stomach churn.

 

“I’m afraid not,” he lied, damning himself to hell for his selfishness.

But he was dong the right thing.

Little Esme’s face fell and Carlisle’s un-beating heart ached for her.

 

“Oh,” said the crestfallen little human, starting to wonder why Nan _hadn’t_ found her yet. “I’m sure she’s just…”

 

Bea worried whether Nan was angry that she had never come back. That might explain why she hadn’t come looking. After four months of _torture,_ Bea’s time with Nan seemed very distant.

 

“Esme,” said Carlisle quietly.

She looked at him with those…those _eyes._

 

“I knew Nan…I’ve _known_ Nan for a long time, and what I know about her is that she…”

Carlisle cringed at how upset he was about to make the human. But she needed to know.

“She often wants things…and she’ll take them…and then she’ll get bored of them and move on. Out of sight, out of mind. She…Unlike Edward and I, takes _full_ advantage of the ample supply of humans in places like New York and she…she has fun with them…”

“…And them she leaves them…” said Bea quietly, understanding where the doctor was going with that one.

“Yes, he said, a choke in his voice, feeling his own heart break right alongside the little human’s.

 

 _It has to get worse,_ he thought to steel himself. _It has to get worse before it gets better. I am_ _helping_ _her. It’s Flanagan’s_ _blood making Esme say these things._

 

“Well,” mumbled Bea, Bambi-eyes blurring with tears. “Thanks…thanks for telling me…I’ll just… Don't want to intrude upon your hospitality…”

She got up to leave.

“Wait!” said Carlisle, jolting forwards. “Esme, Mrs Platt. Please don’t go. We have to look after your baby!”

 

 _My baby,_ thought Bea. _My baby. He’s all that matters now. He’s all I have left._

 

She sat back down slowly.

 

“Th-thank you,” said Carlisle relieved. “Good, well, yes. Now, Edward and I have to sleep. In the meantime, why don’t you find something to do for the day? We have plenty of books-“

“Too many books,” mumbled Edward, loud enough to receive the dimply smile he’d been aiming for.

“We have enough of food for you, we have things for drawing…”

“I’ll draw please,” said Bea. 

“You don’t have to ask like that,” said Edward. “We’re not about to bite your head off. Relax.”

 

Bea grinned. “Okay then, I’m relaxed.”

 

“Good,” said Carlisle with a smile to match the human’s, a smile Edward had never seen on him.

 

 

 

That evening, before Carlisle set off to the clinic, Bea watched Edward and the doctor fuss around the kitchen, trying to make her dinner. They couldn’t agree on what to cook so they were both making her different things.

 

Edward was busy rolling out pastry for chicken pie while Carlisle was stubbornly mashing potatoes with tremendous vampiric force. It was one of the funniest things Esme had ever seen. Discreetly, she tried to sketch out the scene on a piece of the paper that Edward had dug out for her, though the whole thing was turning out as a detailed drawing of Carlsile’s beautiful face.

 

Edward turned and saw it, just as Esme moved to put it away. And he actually smiled. He was very beautiful too.

 

“So,” said Edward smugly, as he laid the pie on the table. “Thoughts?”

Bea happily took a serving but left room for the unidentifiable dish that Carlisle was cooking so as not to hurt his feelings.

Bea tried it, and liked it.

 

“Goodness Edward!” she exclaimed. “This is wonderful!”

“Thanks,” he said modestly. “It was my mother’s favourite.”

Carlisle’s head snapped around suddenly and even Beatrice saw the angry look he gave the boy.

 

“What did I say?” asked Bea.

 

 _“You_ said nothing wrong,” said Carlisle, still glaring at the tousle-haired teen who smirked.

 

Nervously, Bea took another mouthful. It was obvious how much the conflict was affecting her.

 

Noticing her discomfort, Carlisle left his horrific creation to simmer for a moment and came to crouch by the human.

 

“Esme, please do not be offended by us, sometimes we just need a…little discussion.”

 

Bea grinned, looking between the two vampires.

“Are you two…?”

Bea gave a motion that meant togetherness.

“What? Good grief no!” said Edward, stifling a laugh. “It would feel like _incest,_ he behaves just like a _father.”_

Bea laughed too, her chest lightening suddenly.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to assume…”

“It’s alright,” said Edward, still smirking.

 

Carlisle laughed, a beautiful uplifting sound that made Bea’s heart soar.

“I think a few people do,” he chuckled. “That’s why Edward is always introduced as my wife’s brother.”

 

The human’s face fell. His …his _wife?_

 

“Not-not that I _am_ married,” Carlisle added quickly.

 

Bea brightened like a sunflower put back into water.

 

“So I thought,” she chuckled. “A wife would have trained you not to leave a pan of food on the oven without stirring it.”

 

Carlisle laughed dreamily before he realised what she was actually saying.

 

“Oh bother!” he cried as he darted to the oven where his edible offering was burning, now decidedly _inedible._

(Bea was actually quite pleased that Carlisle was the one to announce this, he really was lovely and she didn’t want to hurt his feelings.)

 

So, Bea ended up with just the pie and the three of them laughed like a family, the feud between the two men forgotten. 

 

Later, Bea collapsed into bed smiling as Carlisle busied himself straightening her covers unnecessarily. Beatrice thought how strange it must be for him to have a human in the house. He gave her a kiss on the forehead as she snuggled into the bedcovers to await sleep.

 

Sleep that didn’t come. Not even after hours of waiting.

 

Perhaps she had eaten too much? She felt sick and her stomach hurt. She let out a small groan as she sat up, a groan that became a short gasp of pain as the stabbing sensation became more prominent. What the hell was happening? 

 

“Carlisle?” she whispered into the darkness. 

 

He _was_ in the house.

 

“Carlisle?” she said louder.

 

With a whisper, the doctor was beside her, having heard genuine fear in her voice.

 

“Esme, what’s wrong?” he asked, though knowing damn well. 

He could smell the blood.

 

“Carlisle,” she panted, panic on her perfect face. 

Sweat slicked her forehead. She was in serious pain.

 

“I-I think the baby’s coming.”

 

 

 

Now, there is _nothing_ good about a miscarriage, but if Carlisle were to pick something positive about Bea’s, it was over quite quickly.

 

It wan’t long before Carlisle and Bea had wrapped baby Nathaniel in a blanket, and both kissed him goodbye. Carlisle’s human life of religion, which he so often shunned, now served him well, as he knew exactly how Bea would like her baby, the child of an angel and a devil, to be blessed into God’s loving embrace.

 

And how the angel _wept._

 

She was heartbroken and she cried for the loss of her own life alongside her little baby’s, because she wasn’t living anymore, she wasn’t _Beatrice_ anymore.

 

And another dead creature, Carlisle, wept alongside her, for reasons neither of them could really understand, because in that moment, _he_ was the father of the child.

 

For the days that followed, Carlisle spent all night with Esme, for whom the light and darkness had blend into one and did not feel the time passing. He kept Edward away, because they both knew, by some strange instinct, that it was Carlisle that Esme needed. But still, after a week, there was no real change, and so when the two vampires woke at dusk to find the house empty, they knew where Esme had gone.

 

 

Carlisle couldn’t remember the last time he’d truly used his vampire speed, possibly never like this.

 

 

He moved like vapour through the twilit streets, praying to God, The Buddha, _Lilith,_ and any and every other god that may have been listening that he would reach his Esme before _she_ reached _them._

 

He reached his destination as Esme paused on the precipice of death, thinking about Nathaniel.

 

Transfixed with horror, Carlisle watched the love of his life walk, very deliberately to the very edge of the cliff. 

 

And then Carlisle had a choice. He could stop her. No, he _should_ stop her, but…

 

The vampire inside Carlisle, that was so ofter suppressed, realised that if she died…then he could change her without altering his moral code. He _could_ change a _dead_ woman. 

 

She would be all. His. Forever.

 

And that was perhaps Carlisle’s only real selfish action in his undead life, but _damn_ it was selfish.

 

Esme waited, for what Carlisle didn’t know, and then all of a sudden, she was gone. 

 

He dashed to the bottom of the cliff and paused for a second, shocked though he knew what he would find.

 

 _What_ _have_ _I done?_

 

“Carle…” Esme managed to slur, through the blood pouring from her mouth.

“Yes!” he said desperately. “Esme I’m here, hold on!”

 

She was alive! 

 

Carlisle was grateful for the chance to save her humanity, really what _had_ he been thinking?

 

 

However, she was barely breathing, an _inch_ from death, a bloody smear against the sand, bleached pale under the moon. No human medicine would save her now. 

 

Seeing no other way, Carlisle rolled up his sleeve and bit his wrist then pushed it gently against Esme’s mouth for her to drink. He had to do this! He reminded himself. It’s the only way. 

 

As she began to heal, slowly, then more rapidly after that, she held his wrist in place and drank greedily. As a result, Esme remembered little of her journey back to the city in the vampire’s arms, arms shaking with sobs, but she would remember the _dream._

 

Because that was the first night that she dreamt…exclusively… _vividly_ …of Carlisle Cullen.

 

I’m sure shy little Esme wouldn’t have wanted the details of her dream in writing, so I’ll say simply that she never considered taking her own life ever again.

 

The next evening when Esme scampered quietly down to breakfast, (she was now living by night again), she couldn’t bring herself to meet Carlisle’s eye, as though he’d know what she’d dream of. Then again, she couldn’t look a him quite the same way either.

 

She felt bizarre, a little like you do if you drink five cups of coffee and strangely invigorated, despite the events of the past week. What was _wrong_ with her?

 

It was difficult trying to stare avidly at the man without making eye-contact.

 

“Esme,” he said gently, getting up to speak to her.

She flushed scarlet, and then blushed even deeper, realising that he couldn’t have missed her blush.

“How are you doing?” Carlisle asked. “Yesterday was…”

 

Esme saw that he looked tired, beautiful, but tired. He also had some bloody smudges under his eyes. Esme didn’t know why that might be.

 

“…Tough,” he said. “For all of us, but we can get through it, alright?”

He took her hands in his own. At his touch her heart _hammered._ Hearing this Carlisle looked down. He looked…ashamed?

 

“Carlisle,” said Esme softly. “You saved my life, you have nothing to feel bad about. My…the … Nathaniel. There…there was nothing you could have done.”

 

Carlisle looked tormented.

“Esme,” he rasped. “I have to tell you something. Last night I…”

 

Edward skidded into the room, interrupting Carlisle. _Damn_ that kid could shift!

 

“Carlisle, there’s been an emergency at the clinic!” he said, so fast Esme couldn’t understand. “You have to go immediately!”

 

Giving Esme one last anguished look, Carlisle raced to his study, grabbed his bag and ran out of the door.

 

The human watched him go.

 

“I don’t think he likes me,” she whispered to Edward, dejectedly.

Edward put his arms politely around the tiny lady, he’d been fond of her since the moment he saw her. She was kind, just like Carlisle.

He chuckled softly.

 

“Esme, I don’t think ‘likes’ really covers what Carlisle feels for you,”

Esme looked at him, furrowing her brow.

“But I don’t understand…”

 

“He’s in love with you,” said Edward quietly. “Which is strange. Because he’s chosen a life of solitude for three centuries.”

He stared off into the distance.

“Strange, but not hard to understand. I think if anyone could make him happy, it’s you.”

 

Esme stared. She was…she was…

 

“But I’m already Nan’s human,” she whispered.

“No,” said Edward forcefully. “No you are _not._ You are _Esme’s_ human and you will do what you please.”

 

 

Wow, wouldn’t you know? It does seem like Carlisle is Esme’s true love.

 

But _is_ he?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> To set the scene for the next part, this is six months earlier in New York, where I have placed the Vampire Authority (I know it was really in New Orleans) but, for the convenience of the plot it’s in the Big Apple.
> 
> Also, at this point in history, the Nineteenth Amendment had just been passed (in August 1920, I believe) after it had been sent to the States for Ratification in 1919. Therefore, Beatrice is campaigning for equal rights, rather than for the vote, although Charles, her husband would certainty NOT have allowed her to use her vote, which is how we find ourselves in this situation…

**Seattle, November 1921**

 

The victim: Mr Charles Platt. Kept to himself a bit, but was well liked at work. Had a pretty wife with a baby on the way. So who…?

 

Peters scowled. So much about this murder didn’t make sense. Who would want to murder this man?

 

He wasn’t wealthy by any length, so it wasn’t that, though it seemed far too extreme to have been about money _owed._

 

Besides, there was no break in. Platt _himself_ had let the killer in, which meant it was-

 

“Somebody he knew.”

 

Peters turned to Price who had just spoken.

 

“Yes,” Peters muttered. “That would be our normal assumption. Though in this case…”

 

They looked around. They didn’t know if Mr Platt was likely to have been associated with anyone capable of this.

But really, _who_ was capable of the slaughter in front of them?

 

 

 

**New York City, January 1921**

 

 

The visitor to the evening women’s suffrage meeting laughed.

 

“Peaceful protest?” she asked incredulously, though still managing to sneer. “You know if you _really_ want to impress men you should just have a nice _war._ That’s what they’d do.”

 

The woman was tall and elegantly dressed. She had her hair cut fashionable short and wore an expression of distain as a compliment to her red lipstick. It actually looked really good on her.

 

Beatrice, the Suffragette, no, sorry, _Suffragist_ leader _scowled_ at the blonde woman.

“Well, that’s how we choose to do things,” she said politely, though she was angry. “Giving in to the expectations of others seems rather counter-productive, don’t you think?”

 

“So, if I were campaigning for my rights, I would be on the radio every day debating politicians and church leaders? Right!” snorted the woman. “Nice!”

 

“Besides,” she continued silkily. “Suffrage is the campaign for the _vote,_ which you have, so really you should change the name of your little… _association.”_

 

The outsider’s eyes raked the gathered group of housewives and hopeful teenagers critically, though made no comment. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be unkind, they just simply weren’t worth the breath.

 

Beatrice was really struggling to like this woman, who in a few short minutes had actually managed to be exceedingly rude to her.

 

“Well Mrs Flanagan,” said Beatrice, determined to stand her ground. “We fought for the vote, and will continue to fight until we have equal rights to men. Perhaps you believe that to be an unworthy cause, in which case we’ll just have to agree to disagree on that front.”

 

“Yes,” said the woman flatly, willing the rather over-enthusiastic and really far too pretty human to stop talking. “But what I think that we can _all_ agree on is that these after-dark protests are going to have to _stop_ after Miss Harrington’s accident with the automobile.”

 

In fact, Miss Harrington’s death had caused Nan quite a headache. After a long tussle with the ‘automobile’, it had had it’s fangs ripped out as punishment. The so-called Suffragists’ leaflet campaign made for quite a nice paper chase for the New York vampire population.

 

“No!’ cried quite a young woman, probably not more than sixteen. “I am willing to _die_ for my rights!”

Nan turned to the human.

“And what good are your rights to you if you’re dead?” she asked the human, wishing it _were._ “Besides, I don’t think your mother would be too happy to hear you say that. Does she even know you’re here?”

 

The girl flushed under the unforgiving glare of the woman. It was true that her mother believed her to be at needlework club.

 

“My husband,” continued Nan, commanding effortlessly the attention of everyone in the room. “Was one of the policemen that had to clean the mess up, and it was he who asked me to come here and try and talk some sense into you. He said it was awful, blood everywhere.”

 

“Then all the more reason to keep going!” cried Beatrice passionately. “A woman gets run over on the street and not a thing is done about it. We want a voice!”

 

Mrs Flanagan turned to Beatrice. It had gone too far.

 

“Mrs Platt,” she said quietly, though with a strange intensity.

Beatrice found herself, rather embarrassingly, trapped in the woman’s cold grey eyes. They were bottomless.

“These protests stop,” said the blonde, very deliberately. “Do you understand me?”

 

Beatrice nodded mutely. Of course they would have to stop! There was no question of their continuation…for some reason…

 

“Ladies,” said Beatrice, shaking her head briefly to dispel the sudden feeling of confusion. “I’m afraid Mrs Flanagan is correct. We will have to stop protesting after sundown.”

 

There were a few ‘awwws’ but they all listened to Beatrice, their cherished leader, mother of the group. If she said that was for the best then…

 

“Excellent,” said Mrs Flanagan briskly, getting up to leave. “I’m glad that’s all sorted out. Now,”

 

She turned back to face the women before she swept out of the door.

 

“Good luck,” she said, her gaze falling again on Beatrice with…confusion, before she exited, chilling the temperature of the winter night a few degrees with her very presence.

 

After Mrs Flanagan had gone, Beatrice felt that the wind had rather gone out of her sails. There was something about the policeman’s wife that made her want… _more._

 

After a few, now seemingly unimportant, conversations (and some lovely cookies, care of another member), the meeting was over and Beatrice began her usual dash home before her husband got back from work and saw that she had been out. She had rushed through her chores all day so that she could come to the Suffrage meeting. It was her only escape.

 

Or so she thought.

 

“Why hello beautiful,” leered the voice.

Beatrice stiffened, halfway down the narrow street between the meeting hall and her home. She was alone apart from a dark figure.

 

Taking this particular shortcut was always a risk, but until this point, Beatrice had always been more afraid of Charles than any stranger. Tonight was different. Even the meeting had held a hint of menace.

 

The man approached slowly.

Bea backed away alarmed.

 

“My-my husband will be along in a moment,” she said warningly, though not as much as she had hoped.

Her voice had shaken.

 

The man chuckled.

“Then I’ll have to work quickly then, won’t I?”

 

Bea screamed as he lunged forwards.

 

But he never made it.

 

Beatrice opened her eyes slowly. She saw the man on the ground staring at her in horror. No, _past_ her. Wait, maybe there was something _behind_ her….

 

Bea turned and stared at the woman in terror. It seemed Mrs Flanagan was a little more than just a policeman’s wife.

 

With an arrogant smile that showed a pair of frighteningly sharp teeth, she wiped a dribble of blood from the corner of her mouth then licked her finger clean appreciatively.

 

She strode past the trembling Beatrice to kneel beside the man who had blood dripping down his neck.

 

“It’s not nice is it,” she said, very softly.

He trembled a no, looking down.

“Look at me when I speak to you,” snapped the woman, stabbing the man with the shards of ice in her voice.

He brought his terror-struck eyes to the woman’s. He couldn’t help it.

“You will not make a sound,” she commanded.

 

The woman inclined her head graciously.

“You are a good-looking man. Could have a good wife. Maybe you do. And yet…here I find you.”

 

He was dumbstruck.

The woman lurched forwards suddenly and trapped his throat in her iron grasp.

He writhed for air.

 

“Perhaps the ugliness _inside_ could do with being shown…on the _outside.”_

She slid her hand up to his face, almost tenderly, and covered his features with it. The were some cracking sounds and the man’s face turned to mush in the woman’s palm.

 

Bea slid to the snow-dusted ground, feeling bile in her throat. She had never seen anything like that…and with a jolt she realised she might be next.

 

She stuffed her fist in her mouth to stop herself from screaming.

 

Mrs Flanagan turned to Beatrice.

“What do you think?”

 

Bea looked at Nan blankly as she held up her thumb (he lives?) and then turned it down (or he dies?).

The human couldn’t respond.

 

Mrs Flanagan sighed impatiently.

 

“See?” she said to the mass of bloody flesh on the ground. “You’ve gone and scared her.”

She turned to Bea again.

“Just take your time to decide,” she said, snapping a leg to ensure no boredom encroached.

“W-what…a-are…?” stammered Bea.

Mrs Flanagan grinned with those _teeth._

“What _am_ I?” she asked. “Well…let me show you.”

 

Deliberately, and so that Beatrice could see, Mrs Flanagan lifted the body and sunk the teeth gladly into the man’s neck, snapping fingers, a hand and then an arm absently as she did so. In less time than Bea would have thought, had she _ever_ wondered how long it would take to drain a body of blood, the man was dumped back on the ground. Dead.

 

Mrs Flanagan retracted the teeth back into her gums with a snap. Not a spot of red on her expensive coat.

 

She strode towards the terrified Beatrice, she couldn’t help having just a little more fun.

She leaned in close, close enough that the human could smell her perfume.

 

“Vampire,” she whispered against the Bea’s ear, amused at how scared the little human was.

 

“Now,” she said in a businesslike way. “You stay right here and I’ll just get rid of the body. I won’t be a second.”

The woman seemingly vanished with the body.

 

It wouldn’t have mattered if she had been gone for hours. Bea sat, practically catatonic, waiting for the monster to return. And then it did.

 

“There you are human,” said the vampire. “Now, I’ll just have to glamour you and we can all be on our way.”

Bea looked dazed.

“Well, up you get,” prompted Nan.

 

The human just looked at Nan with those huge eyes, pleading for her life. 

 

“Oh for pity’s sake,” sighed Nan. “I was trying to be _theatrical._ Are you…?”

 

The human gazed at her. Nan was worried she may have done some permanent damage.

 

“Human, I will take you back to your human husband and you will be safe,” she said without glamour.

Bea stiffened.

 

“No,” she mumbled quietly.

“Why? You’d rather stay with me?” Nan laughed.

With surprising seriousness, the pretty little human nodded.

 

This took Nan back a bit. That made no sense. The human was obviously out of it’s mind.

The trembling creature looked at Nan beseechingly.

 

Nan raised her eyebrows, amused.

 

“Alright then,” she laughed, scooping the petrified Beatrice into her arms. “If the lady insists.”

 

Nan carried the trembling human back to her own apartment. She plopped it down in a chair, with a large mixing bowl in case of any…accidents. The human was looking quite queasy.

 

 _Now,_ thought Nan. _What do I do?_

 

She thought perhaps the human wanted to be _fed,_ that usually fixed most problems. But this meant that Nan would have to leave the human alone while she purchased…sustenance.

 

“Human, you stay here,” Nan commanded.

 Beatrice went to stand up.

“No, you _sit your ass down!”_ snapped Nan.

“Please Mrs Flanagan,” the human whispered softly. “I…I think I need to relieve myself.”

 

 _Ugh! Oh God!_ Thought Nan in alarm. _Er…bathroom._

 

Quick as a flash, Nan deposited the human in the room and slammed the door behind it.

 

She’d let the human do…what it needed…in private.

But after the tinkling of water had stopped, she heard the human call out.

“Um, Mrs Flanagan? There’s no…well there’s no paper.”

 

 _Well of course there bloody isn’t!_ Thought Nan. _Why would I need toilet paper when I don’t use the toilet?_

 

She sighed. _Heeeere_ we go.

 

“Alright then, I’ll pop out and buy you some. Just _stay put,_ alright? Do me a favour and don’t die on me.”

“Staying put won’t be a problem,” laughed the human breathily.

 

Rather quickly, Nan appeared back in the apartment. Her shopping trip had been…efficient. She had been forced to set foot in a _human grocery store_. Could she stoop much _lower?_

 

She opened the bathroom door and _lobbed_ the roll of paper into the room _._

 

 _Alrighty,_ thought Nan, faced with the prospect of food preparation. _Where do we start?_

 

Tea, she’d heard that sugary tea was good for shock. She’d begin with that.

 

With disgust, she dipped the bag in the hot water, watching in fascination as the horrid leaves infused with the horrid water to make a new horrid fluid.

 

 _Milk,_ thought Nan, inspired. _Perhaps the human might enjoy some milk in it._

 

With even greater revulsion, Nan tipped the _mammary fluid of a cow_ into the cup. She almost felt cruel giving the human this muck to drink. 

 

 _Sugar,_ thought Nan. _All_ _humans like sugar._

 

She picked up the unopened packet with suspicion. _This_ had certainly not existed in her human life and she instantly mistrusted it.

 

She took a spoon, and ladled in the sugar as she would have done with honey when _she_ was human, rather a long time ago. Rather a _very_ long time ago.

 

 _That’s one tablespoon,_ she thought. _And that’s two… that can’t be enough. Three. Four. And maybe five just to make sure. Yes, that should do it._

 

Proudly, Nan put the cup on a saucer, added one of those so-called _‘cookie’_ things, and took her offering out to the human. 

 

“Oooh! Tea!” exclaimed the human excitedly.

 

Nan smiled smugly.

 

_There, you see. I’m just the bloody human-whisperer._

 

The human took a sip of it’s tea and it’s face puckered with surprise.

 

“Oh my!” the human exclaimed. “It’s very…”

“Is it the milk?” asked Nan, concerned. “Yes, _I_ was a little hesitant with that one.”

 

“It’s just very _sugary,_ that’s all,” said Beatrice apologetically. “I’m…I’m not sure that I’m going to be able to drin-“

“Fine! Suit yourself!” Nan snapped as she snatched the cup away and dumped the mixture down the sink aggressively, leaving a slime of sucrose in it’s wake. The cup didn’t survive.

“Don’t bloody drink it then! It’s all the same to me!”

 

“Oh I’m sorry!” said the human quickly. “I didn’t mean to offend you!”

Nan just shrugged. She hated not being good at things.

“Perhaps I could make a cup, and you could watch?” suggested the human.

Nan shrugged again.

“Go ahead.”

 

Nan studied the human’s movements as it made the tea and added the _tiniest_ spoonful of sugar.

 

 _Ah,_ thought Nan. _Noted._

 

The human smiled tentatively at Nan and held up the cup.

“You weren’t too far off,” it said kindly. “Now…you had to…glamour me?”

Nan shook her head quickly to focus herself.

“Er, yes. But…”

 

She considered the human, which with it’s empty bladder and full stomach had cheered up considerably. Perhaps glamouring wouldn’t be the best idea after all.

 

“No,” said Nan at last. “I changed my mind. I want you to remember what happened to act as a reminder that you should not walk around theses streets at night. For _several_ reasons.”

 

Beatrice gasped.

 _“You_ killed Mary Harrington!” she cried, eyes wide as the saucer she clutched politely.

The human looked…well really cross actually.

“No,” said Nan patiently. “Someone _like_ me did. Which is why you shouldn’t wander around at night.”

“Is your husband a…vampire too?” asked the human, looking strangely fascinated.

Nan shook her head.

“No,” she said, without regret. “Because he doesn’t exist.”

 

“Are you a widow?…if you don’t mind my asking?”

Beatrice’s curiosity had got the better of her.

“No,” said Nan carelessly. “All this…”

She gestured around her rather large apartment.

“…Is mine, and has always been…”

 

_And will always be._

 

“…Mine alone.”

 

Bea looked around in awe. Mrs Flanagan owned all of it _herself?_ All of her very _own?_

 

“Wow! Do you have a job?” Beatrice asked excitedly, forgetting the small factor of Nan’s inhumanity.

 

Nan looked a little awkward for a second.

 

“A…rather unconventional one, yes,” she answered.

 

“What do you-?”

 

Nan silenced the human.

“Secret,” she whispered. “Now, Mrs Platt, your husband will be worried sick, let’s get you home.”

 

Bea felt a stab of panic which had nothing to do with the previously mythical monster who’s home she was sitting in.

 

“Not yet! I…I still don’t feel completely well,” rushed Beatrice, risking imposing upon this monster’s hospitality a little longer to avoid going home.

 

“I mean,” she continued, maybe foolishly. “You didn’t have to _kill_ him, you could have just…glamoured him,”

“I beg your pardon?” asked Nan.

 

“The man,” whispered Beatrice with a shudder. “He’s dead.”

“Would you rather I _hadn’t_ intervened?” asked Nan -  she could have had the leftovers. 

 

The vampire really had been over-generous. Actually…why _had_ she saved this human?

 

Bea shrugged, unaware of what Nan was thinking. 

“I just…his family,” she whispered.

 

Nan sighed.

“I know humans get all… _iffy_ about killing but honestly!”

She tutted.

“Humans die every day! I don’t see why that one was a great gift to it’s species.”

 

“I’m human,” mumbled Bea.

Nan laughed.

“I’d almost forgotten actually,” she said, lips parting over pearly teeth which thankfully looked normal. “Well, you’re a _nice_ human. How about that?”

 

Nan looked at the specimen appreciatively. She had to resist the temptation just to have a _little_ taste before she released it back to it’s home.

 

“Now”, said Mrs Flanagan gently. “I’m going to walk you to your door and leave you.”

Her face became again inhuman.

“And if you decide it might be fun to tell anyone about me or any of tonight’s events,” she snarled. “You will find yourself with our friend at the bottom of the Hudson, do you understand?”

The human nodded, yes it did.

“Good”, said Nan, never expecting to ever see the thing again.

 

However, Nan was wrong, the next evening she did.

 

 

“Nan!” cried the human excitedly, waving. “Nan!”

Nan turned to hide her face behind the roast-chestnut stand.

 

What were the odds? Was this human _following_ her? Why wouldn’t it just _leave her alone?_

 

“Nan!” said Beatrice, slowing to a walk. “What are you doing here?”

“I live in this city too you know!” snapped Nan. “And go away, I’m working.”

Beatrice chuckled.

“No you’re not! You’re looking at a map, sightseeing’s more like it!”

Nan closed the map with a snap. She really needed the human to be quiet.

 

“In actual fact, I’m looking for a murderer,” said Nan, trying to freak the human out a little. “A vampire. And this one’s a real slippery bastard - so far I’ve not caught him.”

“Murderer,” said Beatrice stroppily. “Found her!”

She had not yet forgiven Nan her … digression in the alleyway.

 

“Yes,” said Nan. “Quite. And the only reason you have not been glamoured out of your mind yet is so you remember that there is danger out there for you, of all types. Remember?”

Beatrice nodded obediently as Nan’s face clouded over, realising what she was actually seeing.

 

“And why are you out after dark again?” she asked, aghast at the human’s stupidity. “Alone?”

Beatrice gave a kind of half shrug.

 

Everyone knew vampires came out at night.

 

“So…this murderer,” said Beatrice, ignoring Nan’s indignation. “Are you going to murder _him?”_

“If…if it comes to it,” said Nan, still scowling at the difficult little creature.

 

 _Yes,_ she thought. _Most definitely. With pleasure,_

 

“But…” said Beatrice. “Surely that makes you just as bad as he is?”

 

Nan considered the vampire in question. Nope, she didn’t think it did.

 

“Where does he live?” asked Beatrice carefully. “I could help you to-”

“No!” said Nan quickly. “You will have no part in this. You are too delicate.”

 

Beatrice scowled.

“Why?” she said, lifting her head high. “Because I’m a _woman?”_

Nan sighed.

“No, because you are a _human”_ she said cooly. “Humans scream and faint and break their ankles walking over metal grates in heeled shoes.”

Beatrice scrunched up her face, thinking.

“I could always be bait!” she laughed.

Nan laughed too.

 

 _That…_ thought Nan, looking at the beauty. _Is not a such bad idea._

 

“Alright then,” said Nan, exaggerated sigh disguising her greed. “Tag along if you must. But don’t slow me down.”

 

So they walked _together_ , at human speed, to the vampire’s address.

 

“Now,” said Nan with a perfectly friendly smile. “Perhaps you would do me the honour of ringing the bell. I think maybe he’d like a pamphlet.”

Bea looked at Nan quizzically as the vampire produced one of Bea’s _own_ Women’s Rights flyers.

 

“Are you sure that’s safe?” she asked, her perfect little face scrunching up in the most adorable way.

“Oh yes,” lied Nan without guilt and smiled encouragingly at the human.

 

Bea, somewhat nervously, walked up the steps, fuelled by a strange urge to impress the vampire.

She rang the bell.

 

She was surprised to see a rather plain looking man open the door. For some reason, she’d assumed that all vampires would be beautiful like Nan was.

 

“Hello there madam,” he said politely. 

“Hello sir,” replied Bea. “I was wondering if you were interested at all in the Women’s Rights movement?”

 

The man thought about the past three meals he’d had. Oho yes, he was _definitely_ interested.

 

“Why yes,” he said. “Come inside.”

 

Beatrice felt the light sensation she vaguely remembered feeling sometime recently. 

 

 _Yes,_ she thought. _That’s a fantastic idea!_

 

Numbly, she walked in to his home. It was…dark. Really dark. And the smell…

 

Coming to her senses a little, Beatrice began to feel nervous, then terrified as she realised that Nan was nowhere in sight.

 

 _Bait,_ she thought in despair. _But the bait in a trap usually gets eaten!_

 

The vampire smiled at her quickening heartbeat. Such a pretty heartbeat.

 

“Now,” he said smoothly. “Can I get you any refreshment?”

 

For some reason Bea’s voice decided to come back to her. Forget Flanagan. If she’d left her to die at the hands of this so-called murderer then by God she’d tell him she knew.

 

“Aren’t _I_ today’s refreshment?” asked Bea impertinently.

The man looked taken-aback. Surely this human couldn’t _know._

“What do you…”

“I know,” said Bea. “That you are a vampire and a bad man.”

 

The vampire chuckled.

“Well well. You belong to someone!” he exclaimed, chuckling. “I _do_ hope so. That’s my favourite sort of human.”

 

Bea gasped as the vampire darted to her side and ran his cold hand down the side of her neck.

 

“So…who do you belong to?” he whispered, voice like slime. “Man … or woman?”.

In her panic, Bea didn’t think to deny ownership.

“A…a woman vampire,” she stammered.

 

He chucked.

“Whoa-ho-ho, _dirty_ girl. I _like_ it. How old is she?” he asked, playing with one of Bea’s caramel locks.

How old _was_ Nan?

“Er…forty maybe,” answered Beatrice hopefully.

“Forty?” the vampire asked incredulously. “An infant! I am two hundred and fifty years of age!”

 

The vampire had his fangs inches from Bea’s throat. She was _petrified._

 

“Mmm,” he snarled. _“Delicious._ What a lucky lady, the one who had you. Poor her, I’m sure it will be quite a drag to do without…”

 

“Stop,” said a quiet voice. 

The vampire darted round in alarm. How had he not heard them come in?

 

He saw the vampire.

 

Oh. _That’s_ why.

 

He looked in horror at the human in a new light. It was…it was _Flanagan’s._

 

“I’m seven-hundred and twenty five,” Nan told Beatrice calmly. “And much much faster, stronger and…if I say so myself…cleverer than this piece of vermin. I guess it slipped my mind to tell you that, but hey, now you know,”

 

She stepped forward.

“As a Chancellor of our Authority,” she began smoothly, but with an undercurrent of triumph. “I sentence you to die for the fully educated, non-consensual and mal-intented, attempted feeding upon my human. A human belonging to another vampire is their property only. And this one…”

 

Nan reached out and grabbed Bea possessively around the waist.

 

She snarled. 

“…Is _mine.”_

 

The vampire looked angry.

“How…that’s not…” he spluttered, realising the end was nigh.

Nan just smiled.

“I’m sorry,” she crooned mockingly. “I’d offer you a last meal but…”

She brushed the stunned Beatrice’s hair gently behind her ear.

“I’m rather attached to this one.”

 

Desperately, the criminal lunged the defend himself but it was indeed true that Nan was quicker and stronger. As well as a generally nastier piece of work.

 

This time, Bea knew to close her eyes, but instead of snapping, she heard a magnificent wet squelch and upon opening her eyes she saw blood and red strands of vampire smeared all over the floor, the ceiling and Nan.

 

“Beatrice!” she cried. “Are you alright?”

Bea looked at Nan, trembling.

 

Nan almost felt bad for a second. The poor little thing.

 

“You…you were going to let him kill me! You left me!” garbled the human hysterically, _Beatrice,_ the human.

“No,” said Nan gently. “I wouldn’t have let him hurt you, I just needing you to say what you did. I needed to catch him in the act of drinking from another’s human.”

“How did you know that would work?” stumbled Beatrice, still in shock.  
Nan looked down at the woman.

“I’m just very, very old,” she said kindly. “You learn these things.”

 

 

Beatrice still looked upset.

“Look, Beatrice,” said Nan, worried that a proper apology may be necessary. “I won’t let _anyone_ hurt you, alright? Not when you’re with me, don’t worry.”

 _“Nobody?”_ asked Bea, a strange flicker of hope in her chest.

“Yes,” said Nan, strangely urgently. _“Nobody.”_

 

Reassured that the human wouldn’t collapse, or any other such nonsense, Nan leaned down and picked up a pair of fangs, like her own.

Beatrice looked quizzical, or maybe just sick,

 

“This is proof,” explained Nan, following the human’s fascinated gaze. “It’s like a death certificate to the people that I work with. The fangs are the only part of a vampire that remains intact after our death.”

“But why did you need proof to kill him?” asked Bea thickly. “Couldn’t you just…”

Nan looked slightly offended.

“Just because I killed one human in an alleyway doesn’t mean I don’t have standards,” she said sniffily.

 

Bea looked at her, slightly blankly. She was struggling to hold on to the realms of normality.

 

“How about a cup of tea?” asked Nan cheerfully.

 

 

 

So, again, Nan brought the human… _Beatrice_ … back to her apartment.

 

Looking faint, Beatrice sagged into the chair while Nan brought her some tea. Made to _perfection,_ I may add.

 

“Here,” said Nan, thrusting the packet of cookies towards Beatrice. “Eat.”

 

She nibbled like a small mammal and the newly-washed Nan watched appreciatively from the confines of a fluffy dressing-gown. As humans went, Beatrice wasn’t a bad one to have really. She was quite sweet.

 

Nan smirked. 

“That’s two nights in a row I’ve brought you back here under the cover of darkness,” she chuckled. “The neighbours will start to talk.”

Bea raised her little eyebrow questioningly. Why would they do that?

Nan was a little surprised.

“You know…” she shrugged one shoulder towards Bea suggestively. “Two women…spending their evenings together…Spiriting each other away from their husbands…”

 

Bea still looked blank.

“You’ve had a rather sheltered life, haven’t you?” said Nan.

It wasn’t really a question.

“I grew up on a farm in Ohio,” nodded Bea. “And then when I was nineteen I was married and we moved here a few years ago but…I don’t really go out too much, only to meetings.”

 

Bea looked down. She looked sad.

 

“And…you don’t like him?” asked Nan carefully, bothering to notice things about the human.

Bea shrugged.

“He’s…” she sighed, her beautiful eyes filling with tears. “Well, no, I don’t.”

Nan looked on sympathetically.

“I could…have a word with him,” she offered.

 

Bea shook her head fiercely.

“No, that…that’s quite alright,” she sniffled, wanting to stop that idea in it’s tracks as soon as possible.

“I just meant hypnotise,” said Nan. “…But maybe something more if he has mistreated you.”

 

 

Now paying more attention, Nan could sense the welts of blood under Bea’s skin. Bruising.

 

She felt a flush of hot anger at the thought that anyone would hurt Beatrice, such a _sweet_ little human. 

 

 

Bea looked down. She had been meaning to tell somebody. It had been getting worse recently.

 

She shrugged.

 

“My husband has a stressful job,” she said meekly.

“So do I,” said Nan dryly, pointing to her bloodied clothes. 

 

Beatrice looked anxious, as if something had suddenly occurred to her.

“You wouldn’t…you wouldn’t get _hurt_ would you?” she asked worriedly.

Nan raised her eyebrows.

“Beatrice, we’re talking about _you_ now, not me. But don’t be worried.”

 

Nan’s fangs snapped down and to Bea’s horror, the vampire bit her own wrist.

 

 

Beatrice watched, fascinated, as the wound knitted back together, almost immediately.

 

“I heal up,” said Nan casually.

She then gave Bea a measuring look.

“But _you_ do _not,_ so we are going to have to have a think about what you’re going to do about this man of yours because I don’t want to bring you home to be hurt.”

“Because I’m your human?” asked Bea, desperate to understand.

 

Nan’s vampire instinct sparked.

 

_Yes!_

 

“No,” she managed to say. “That was part of my ingenious plan. You do not have to feel obliged to me.”

Bea looked at Nan as she continued.

“…But on a moral level I don’t want to see you beaten to shit on my watch.”

 

Bea looked shocked. Nan’s _language!_

 

Nan laughed.

“I can say whatever I like,” she grinned. “And so can you when you’re with me. I don’t mind.”

“That’s not very ladylike!” teased Bea, reaching for another cookie, and another.

 

After the sixth cookie, (and they weren’t small cookies) Nan thought she might probe an issue.

“Is it…customary to eat that much? As a human?” she asked.

 

Beatrice opened her mouth to speak, spraying biscuit crumbs across Nan’s nice clean floor. She looked very sorry, but Nan didn’t actually mind. Humans made mess. They just did.

 

_Not their fault I suppose._

 

“Um,” said Beatrice, shielding her full mouth with the back of the hand. “I don’t think so. I hope I’m not being greedy but lately I’ve been so hungry, and I don’t know why!”

Nan nodded. She knew why. She could smell the hormones in Beatrice’s blood that were helping her baby to grow.

“Have as many as you want,” shrugged Nan. _“I’m_ not going to eat them.”

 

“Thank you,” said Bea, and she really meant it.

 

Eventually, not wanting to _overfeed_ the human, Nan, slightly reluctantly, led Bea to the door.

 

“Nan,” said Beatrice seriously. “If…I know you’re busy but if you were passing…I’m sure you would do the Suffrage movement a world of good.”

 

Nan smiled, and managed to resist the urge to correct the human’s terminology.

 

“I’ll see,” she said to appease the beaming creature, with little intention of doing so.

 

However, to Beatrice’s delight, (and frankly Nan’s surprise - what on Earth had come over her?) the next week Nan _was_ at a meeting, on her best behaviour. She didn’t say a _single_ thing…or at least very _much,_ that made any of the other women feel like lowlives. And, after that, the vampire came quite regularly to the meetings, just to watch her huma-… _Beatrice,_ being fearsome. Because Nan was starting to learn that the caramel-haired beauty was actually quite the force to be reckoned with.

 

Often, after the meetings, it was back to Nan’s place for tea and cookies where the two friends would bicker playfully about all sorts of things, mostly Women’s Rights and Nan shared stories about conditions in the twelfth century which made Bea shiver.

 

After only a few weeks, they had actually become very close. Bea was the only human that knew about Nan’s… _condition,_ and Nan the only person who knew about Bea’s troubles at home.

 

But perhaps they were just a little _too_ compatible…

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So…what do you think?
> 
> I really hope that this makes sense and appeases Twilight fans (there will be much more Carlisle and Edward later, never fear). I also hope that I haven’t used any characters in a way that you don’t like, or that disagrees with your perception of them.
> 
> Lastly, comments, even just one word, really make my day so please tell me what you think and you’ll get perhaps a rather over-enthusiastic reply.
> 
> And I’m bound to prompt: who kills Charles in the end? Is it Carlisle, Nan, Edward or Esme?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again!
> 
> Thank you for continuing to read, it really means a lot.
> 
> In this chapter there are a few things that warrant an explanation. 
> 
> Okay, so in true blood, Nan Flanagan was meant to have had a human partner in the early 20s who was involved in the Woman’s Rights Movement and asked Nan to change her (drunk) before disappearing the next night, never to be seen again, after Nan refused. Since Esme’s transformation in twilight was around the same time, I though it would fit quite nicely.
> 
> Also, the part about Nan’s ‘memory’ is an idea of my own - that every day a vampire re-lives a time from their past instead of dreaming, based on Pam’s flashbacks while unconscious in the series. So what Nan sees isn’t a dream, it really happened.
> 
> Oh, and worth a mention, there is some Charles action in this chapter (though his behaviour is down to his own insecurity, which I have tried to convey). There’s nothing too graphic or horrible, but do read it with the knowledge that he gets his comeuppance in the end, as demonstrated…

 

 

**Seattle, November 1921**

 

 

“The, er, butchery seems to have been very…selective, carried out by somebody with detailed anatomical knowledge,” said the physician called in to examine the body.

 

Despite his years treating wounded soldiers in the war, he’d thrown up.

 

“I-it also seems that Platt was alive while most of the…damage took place,” he continued, begging the image to retreat.

 

“Yet nobody in the building heard a thing,” murmured Peters as the doctor gratefully handed in his report and retreated to some nice _living_ patients.

 

“Curious, yes,” muttered Brice thoughtfully. “But the landlord and his wife I believe are beyond suspicion - they can barely climb the stairs, let alone…”

 

He tailed off. If there was a verb to describe what had happened to this man, Brice had never heard it.

 

Peters turned to him, shaking his head. 

“No man could have borne this silently,” he said. “So how did the killer do it?”

 

Detective Brice thought for a moment. 

 

“How indeed?”

 

 

**New York City, February 1921**

 

 

“You have to invite me in,” said Nan, on Bea’s doorstep. “Otherwise I’m stuck here.”

“Oh!” said Bea with a giggle. “I didn’t know _that_ one was true. Of course you can come in!”

 

Bea led Nan inside her rather humble home, the house actually being a little smaller in area than Nan’s living room (though, with a smirk, she never named it as such).

 

“Here we are!” said Bea, showing Nan through the kitchen and back round into the sitting room which Bea had made nice and cozy by lighting a fire and closing the curtains.

 

“Wow Bea, it’s _lovely,”_ said Nan, sensing that her hum-… _Beatrice_ would appreciate the compliment.

And of course she _beamed._

 

However, after the deluxe tour of Bea’s kitchen, which Nan was feeling too polite to refuse, Beatrice became…fidgety.

 

“Nan,” said Beatrice with the particular pout she used when she was deep in thought. “I was wondering…”

“It always makes me nervous when you say that Bea,” said Nan who settled down, amused, to listen to whatever Beatrice had to say.

 

“Do you have rights?” 

 

Nan was taken aback, surprised.

“…Me personally or…?”

“Vampires,” clarified Bea.

Nan chuckled.

 

“Beatrice, think about that for a moment,” she said. “Few know we exist, and most of them aren’t in any fit state to tell anybody.”

“So you don’t?” asked Beatrice, forehead creased.

 

Nan held her hands out in a gesture of lack of control.

“We don’t need rights,” she laughed. “We don’t _exist.”_

“But if people knew-”

“Beatrice,” said Nan warningly. “You are not to _tell_ anyone, I thought I made that clear.”

 

“I wasn’t going to,” said Beatrice, a little hurt that Nan would think such a thing of her. “I just thought.. one day…”

“One day, you want vampires to…walk openly among humans and be recognised as American citizens?” finished Nan, eyebrows raised in something beyond scepticism.

Beatrice shrugged.

 

“Bea,” sighed Nan incredulously. “Nobody would _ever-”_

“But they _might_ Nan,” interrupted Beatrice passionately. “It sounds insane, I know but-”

“Both you and your idea are insane,” said Nan plainly.

Then she smiled.

“Insane but very, very lovely, and in both cases I wish the circumstances were different.”

 

Both women grinned and Bea nudged Nan playfully with her shoulder, though both of them were in fact deep in thought.

 

Then Nan remembered why she was there.

 

“So…” she said. “This speech of yours…”

“Yes!” flapped Bea eagerly, scrabbling under the sofa cushion for the piece of paper which already had some of her exuberant scribbles on it.

 

This was the speech for the Town Hall rally that Beatrice was hoping to organise and live long enough to attend.

 

Nan scanned it like a laser.

“Good,” she pronounced. “But not perfect.”

She took a pen out of her handbag.

“Allow me,” she said to Bea with a lipsticky smile.

 

As she worked, Nan could tell that the human was desperate to tell her something _else,_ but she was absorbed in, what was turning out to be, the writing of a damn good speech, and neglected to ask her what that was.

 

Finally, Beatrice could contain herself no longer.

 

“Nan! I’m having… a _baby!”_ she squealed, clasping her hands to her mouth in excitement.

“I know,” said Nan, rather tactlessly, absorbed in the changing of nations. “I smelled it weeks ago.”

Bea pouted as Nan looked up at her.

 

 _“Nan,”_ she said, grinning through the scolding. “Now _that’s_ not what you’re meant to say! You’re meant to give me a hug and congratulate me!”

 

Nan reached out and shook Bea’s hand.

“Congratulations Beatrice,” she said stiffly.

Bea sighed.

“No hope,” she said sadly, though she still smiled. 

She was _eighty_ percent sure that Nan was making fun of herself.

 

 _“Hug,”_ Bea said firmly.

She wrapped her arms around Nan’s scowling form.

The scowl hid the vampire’s sudden urge.

 

_Bite! Kill it! It’s yours!_

 

Nan let Bea have her hug.

 

“Finished?” asked Nan, with the shadow of a smile.

Bea nodded but looked thoughtful, there _had_ been something else on her mind. There always was.

 

“Nan,” she asked. 

“Mmm?” the vampire replied absently.

“Am I your human _now?”_

“In…some ways,” said Nan carefully. “I…care about you…and I hope to protect you, but I haven’t drunk your blood, or you mine.”

“Oh, okay…”

Nan knew that Bea was itching to say more, so didn’t bother to begin writing again.

 

“Nan…” she began slowly. “So you could…you could bite someone… _without_ killing them?”

Nan considered, but not the answer, the source of the question.

“Yes…” she replied, measuring her answer. “But it…it means something different. The man in the alleyway I made to suffer but it wouldn’t have to be like that.”

“What would it be like?” asked Bea.

 

Nan didn’t really want to educate Bea on the nuances of vampire-human relationships. After having told Bea she _was_ hers in the criminal’s home… and ever so slightly pressuring Bea to say she was _Nan’s_ (on pain of death), she didn’t want Bea to feel _pushed_.

 

“Well… it would be…much more gentle,” said Nan casually. “I suppose and it wouldn’t… _hurt_ as such. Though it would be…intimate.”

Nan raised her eyebrows suggestively, hoping that Beatrice would get the idea.

Bea frowned.

“Intimate…like…breastfeeding!” she arrived.

 

“Sex, is what I was gunning for really,” said Nan bluntly.

Bea blushed furiously.

“But…it wouldn’t be, would it?” she asked, a delightful shade of pink.

“No,” said Nan slowly. “Not in a conventional way.”

“So…it would be acceptable?”

Nan looked aghast and returned the lid to her pen with a snap.

 

“Beatrice! You are expecting a _baby!_ You surely can’t want me to take your _blood.”_

Bea shrugged and looked down.

 

“I’m just fascinated!” she said, like a nature enthusiast. “How human blood can sustain life!”

“Your blood already _is_ sustaining another life,” said Nan, her eyes drifting to below Bea’s midriff…where they stayed….a little too long.

Bea looked down at the bump the wasn’t really even showing yet, following the vampire’s slightly ferocious gaze.

“Yes…but since I haven’t bled this month I’ll have plenty to share!” reasoned Bea, beseechingly.

 

At this, Nan laughed. 

“You are just an _impossible_ human, you know that?”

Bea gave Nan a dimply grin.

“No _you_ are impossible!” she said with very shiny, very _serious,_ eyes. “I just want to be part of some _magic.”_

 

Nan knew that she shouldn’t bite Beatrice. It wouldn’t be right. But _Vampire_ Nan was having a bit more trouble refusing the blood, especially since this unusually lovely human was actually _offering._

 

_Decisions, decisions._

 

In reality, there wasn’t much of a decision to be made.

 

The speech forgotten, Nan leaned in _hungrily,_ letting her fangs snap downwards.

She looked in Bea’s eyes to see if she was afraid. A sick part of Nan really hoped she was.

 

Not seeing terror or disgust, Nan lightly grazed Bea’s warm neck, _just_ falling shy of breaking the skin.

 

“You’re certain?” she whispered to her vict-…no, _friend_ , though at this point Nan’s fangs weren’t really up for a ‘no’.

“Uh huh!” said Bea, leaning to expose her neck even more.

Her pulse quickened tantalisingly in anticipation.

 

Nan _dragged_ her lips slowly across Bea’s throat, tasting her skin…

 

That wasn’t strictly a _necessity_ when it came to feeding but, hey, Beatrice didn’t know that. Nor did she seem to mind it, Nan noted with amusement, smelling the chemical makeup of her blood change ever so slightly.

 

Nan let her mouth rest on Bea’s jaw, feeling the woman’s pulse thrumming in her lips.

 

“Nan?” asked Bea as the other woman fell silent. “Is something wrong?”

“Why” asked Nan softly, in a voice Bea had never heard her use. “Are you having second thoughts?”

 

_No. No second thoughts. Bite. The. Human._

 

_No, Jesus! We’re not an animal! Let her speak!_

 

“No,” said Bea, brow furrowed. “I just didn’t know…I thought you just had to…bite…”

Nan rubbed her nose against Bea’s ear.

“Mmmm, I could…” she murmured, as quietly as Beatrice’s hearing would allow. “But how _boring.”_

 

Bea was really feeling quite agitated now. She was practically _drowning_ in Nan’s perfume. She wanted…she didn’t know what she wanted. She wanted _something_ to happen.

 

“Nan,” she said breathlessly. “Bite me if you’re going to bite me.”

 

_What a fabulous idea!_

 

In receipt of this, Nan gently leaned Bea backwards, something the human didn’t really question at the time.

 

“You’ll be more comfortable like this,” the vampire said, leaning over little Beatrice possessively, poised for the jugular.

 

“Bite!” whispered the human.

 

And though the Nan did _not_ take orders from humans, as _any_ self-respecting vampire wouldn’t, she indulged the woman.

 

Nan bit.

 

 

After the spell was broken and they both came to their senses a little, the bite was not mentioned again, nor was the dainty, warm hand that had made it onto Nan’s hip or the buttons of Bea’s shirt that had managed to…fall open during the feed. 

 

_And damn that was a good feed._

 

Beatrice politely ate the mountains of slightly inedible food that Nan made afterwards, but looked frankly dazed as the vampire left her home.

 

And the next evening Bea wasn’t at the Suffrage meeting because apparently she had the flu…which Nan had _not_ managed to detect in her blood.

 

The vampire was _instantly_ suspicious.

 

She walked to Bea’s home and spotted the woman in the kitchen. Alone. Cradling a cup of coffee.

 

 _Coffee!_ Thought Nan excitedly, discovering something else that Beatrice enjoyed. _She likes coffee!_

 

As she’d noticed the previous evening, Bea’s kitchen was immaculate and so beautifully taken care of, despite the fact that she (and that _fucking_ husband) didn’t have much money.

 

Nan felt a swell of pride for her.

 

_What a busy, busy little Bea._

 

Nan wanted to talk to her. The vampire knew she had obviously…well she’d rocked the boat a little. But Bea didn’t want to see her tonight and she would respect that. Nan had had to _die_ before she came to terms with the confusion that she guessed Beatrice was experiencing. Besides, she had vampire shit to do.

 

Nights turned into weeks and still there was no sign of Nan’s Busy Bea. Occasionally the vampire went round the cheek on her and Beatrice seemed fine, thoughtful, but fine. 

 

And she _was_ fine. Charles’ job was going well and he was usually in quite a good mood and, as long as she kept the meals coming, he started to get quite excited about his baby. 

 

However, as a man of violence and low self-esteem, he couldn’t help attributing Bea’s strange behaviour to something other than just hormones. It was…it was _his_ baby, wasn’t it?

 

 _“Look_ at me!” he shouted, holding his lovely wife by her lovely hair.

“I-I don’t know what you mean!” she sobbed desperately.

“Oh _don’t_ you?” Charles spat, twisted with sarcasm. “Does _he_ know?”

“Wh-what?” stammered Beatrice, confused. “Who do you-”

“YOU KNOW WHO I MEAN! HAVE YOU BEEN WITH ANOTHER MAN?”

 

Charles bumped Beatrice painfully against the wall, impatient for her answer and tilted her head up to his. His wife, like all women, was really an appalling liar.

 

She looked up at him unblinkingly.

“No, I have not been with another man,” she said shakily.

The truth.

 

Charles was relieved. His friend had obviously seen another woman wandering around in the evenings that just _looked_ like her.

 

Satisfied but still uneasy, Charles considered his next move. She really was too pretty. All the other men stared at her. Surely it was only a matter of time…

 

Just to make sure, Charles smacked the look of terror on Beatrice’s face into permanence.

And that evening Nan’s human came back.

 

 

“And what…” said Nan as she let the human into her apartment. “…In _God’s_ name…?”

“I’m sorry!” pleaded Bea. “I’m sorry I sort of disappeared. I didn’t mean to be rude! I don’t know what the rules are about human-”

“No Bea! Your _face!”_

Nan pointed, disgusted, to the angry bruises and Bea’s…rather deliciously, split lip.

 

“I…” cried Bea tearfully. “I didn’t know where else to go!”

She looked at Nan imploringly.

 

A look of clean serenity pooled across the vampire’s face.

“Where is he?” she asked calmly.

That was Nan’s night sorted.

“No!” cried Bea, standing between the vampire and the door, images of the man in the alleyway in her mind. “Please don’t! He was just a little upset!”

“WELL NOW _I’M_ A LITTLE UPSET!” roared Nan.

 

Beatrice cringed away, afraid.

 

Nan sighed, and took the little human in her arms.

“It’s alright Bea,” she murmured into the trembling warmth of her hair. “I won’t hurt him unless you want me to.”

Nan brushed away the human’s tears with her thumb, smiling sympathetically through her fury.

“Let me get you some cookies.”

 

Nan led Beatrice by the hand into the sitting room and Bea’s gaze fell on Nan’s plush sofa. She wondered what the vampire might want in return for giving shelter.

 

“Um, Nan?” she asked haltingly. 

“Yes?” Nan replied.

“Would…would it be alright if we…” 

Beatrice looked down, ashamed.

“…If you didn’t bite me tonight.”

She waited breathlessly for the vampire’s rage but it didn’t come.

 

 _“Bea,”_ said Nan gently. “I could feed on any human in New York. I don’t need to feed on you. It was just an experiment, remember? You wanted to try it?”

Bea nodded.

“If you want me to feed from you,” said Nan with unusual softness. “That’s great. If you don’t…that’s great. It your call and I’m pleased to have you to stay either way.”

 

Bea was really moved, and she couldn’t stop the tears from coming at the kindness of her friend.

 

She cried as she ate her cookies.

 

“Too old?” asked Nan jokingly, trying to lift the seriousness a little.

 

Be a shook her head delightfully.

 

“Perfect!” she said.

 

 

“Now,” said Nan as she, rather clumsily, made the bed in her apartment for the first time. “I’ll be awake writing letters and such, and I might pop out briefly around three O’clock but you’re safe here and he won’t find you. There are some snacks in the cupboard. Eat anything you like, it doesn’t do _me_ much good.”

 

She smiled fondly at Bea as she wriggled around in the bed, getting cosy.

 

“Thank you Nan,” said Bea, dimples in full-bloom as the vampire tenderly kissed her goodnight on the forehead.

 

Nan exited the room quietly leaving Bea to smile herself to sleep.

 

 

When Bea opened her eyes, it was the morning but of course all the shutters were closed to keep the light out. She smelled delicious…and _unburnt_ baking bread from the kitchen and her stomach rumbled.

 

“I heard that!” called Nan, a chuckle in her voice, as she appeared in the doorway with Bea’s breakfast. “Don’t rush me Busy Bea, you _know_ I struggle with this.”

 

She grinned and walked over with some fresh rolls and strawberries to feed Beatrice. Nan had even branched out and made some coffee from the mix she had bought, hoping that Bea might come again. She had kept the cupboards stocked with all sorts just in case the hungry human wanted to visit her.

 

“Now Beatrice,” Nan said seriously. “If it’s inedible, just tell me. I won’t take offence.”

 

Bea smiled. Nan didn’t cook _properly_ very much and when she did, it was accompanied by a lot of ‘in my day’s. She didn’t trust packaged food. In Medieval Ireland it had been rather hard to come by.

 

“I’ll have to try it first though,” Bea said, clasping for the tray with her eager little arms. Breakfast was not a luxury she enjoyed very often.

 

At all, actually.

 

She bit into a bread roll.

“That’s not half bad,” she said appreciatively, reaching for another. “I wish _I_ could cook like that!”

Nan laughed.

 _“Good,”_ she said. “You need feeding up! You’re eating for two now!”

 

Bea looked down adoringly at the little swelling of her abdomen while Nan watched in fascination as she popped the strawberries in her mouth. 

 

_Human feeding._

 

Nan just couldn’t get over it.

 

“You’re doing it again Nan,” scolded Bea playfully.

“Sorry!” the vampire laughed. “I can’t help staring! It’s just so strange…just thinking of all your…digestive juices…” 

Nan waved her hands in the air with her lip curled in distaste. 

“I mean, how _disgusting!”_

 

They both laughed. Bea knew Nan didn’t mean that. She thought that the vampire just liked watching her eat. It should have made her feel uncomfortable but it didn’t.

 

Bea finished her meal but the coffee was just a little too hot so she waited for it to cool. She knew Nan didn’t always remember things like that.

 

They sat in companionable silence but Beatrice knew she’d have to be getting home soon. The thought made her stomach churn.

 

“Nan!” she gasped and dashed to the bathroom, throwing up all she had just consumed.

 

Nan was beside her in a heartbeat and held her long toffee hair out of the way.

“Are you okay?” asked Nan, worriedly. “Are you dying?”

Humans were just so breakable. They liked to have funny turns all _over_ the place.

 

She knew it was light out so she couldn’t take Beatrice to the hospital if she needed it. She _hated_ how helpless she is in the daytime. If only she were a doctor!

 

“Yep,” said Bea queasily. “Just morning sickness, it should pass.”

 

Eventually it did and Nan led Bea into a chair.

 

“Thanks Nan,” said Beatrice shakily. “For that, and for letting me stay over last night, I just didn’t know where else to go.”

“Bea,” said Nan softly. “You are welcome any time. And listen…”

Nan leaned in closer, voice sharpening.

“If he _ever_ hits you again you come _straight_ back here, got it? Even if it’s daytime, knock and I’ll hear you. How about…five knocks in quick succession so I know it’s you.”

“But Nan-” Beatrice began.

 

“Bea,” said Nan as gently as she could given how angry the thought of Bea’s human husband made her. “This isn’t just about _you_ anymore. You have to think about your baby. When he hurts you he hurts the child too. Remember that.”

 

That brought Beatrice up short. All she’d _ever_ wanted is to be a mother. That, and…and..

 

Nan looked at Beatrice, concerned. 

 

 _She’s giving me that look again,_ she thought. _What is she thinking? Perhaps she’s hungry._

 

“Are you hungry? I can attempt something else, no problem,” offered Nan, desperate to delay the moment that she would have to release Beatrice to the cruel world again, though her ancient body was aching for sleep.

 

Bea shook her head.

“I’d better go,” she said quietly as she reluctantly picked up her coat and got up to leave. “He’ll…he’ll be back from work soon and he’ll wonder where I am.”

 

“Bea,” said Nan, urgently holding the human back from the door. “There are other ways to make this go away, if you’ll let me help…”

“I know what you can do Nan,” said Beatrice, looking wilted. “But I don’t want you to hurt him.”

 

Nan wrung her hands in frustration. This human drives her mad! She’s so… _kind._

 

“There are other ways still,” whispered Nan quietly. “I could glamour him or… we could…we could go to the woods…if…you wanted.”

 

Bea stared at her in shock. She’d really do that? _Give_ that? For _her?_

 

Nan had told Bea exactly how, despite her best efforts, the vampire population of New York managed to keep growing. ‘The birds and the bees’, she had called it.

 

“Nan,” she whispered, eyes like dinner-plates. “You _mean_ that?”

Nan seriously considered denying it but, for once, she didn’t feel like lying to somebody.

“Yes,” Nan said nonchalantly, looking interestedly at the wall. “But no panic…it was just…it was just a thought…”

She shrugged to demonstrate how ‘not bothered’ she was.

 

“But…” said Beatrice quietly. “I…wouldn’t be your human anymore, would I?”

“No, you would be my progeny,” said Nan casually, eyes finding their was back to Beatrice’s. “And a progeny could be…anything to me they wanted.”

 

 _Nan!_ The vampire thought to herself angrily. _Shut up already. What the devil possessed you to say that?”_

 

Bea looked thoughtful.

 

“Well, thanks,” she said, with a furrowed little brow, turning to leave.

 

She gave Nan a quick but snuggly hug and then left, still thinking.

 

The vampire _stared_ after her.

 

However, perhaps the conversation was ill-timed - when Beatrice made it home, she was not, as she had planned, alone. Charles was already back.

 

As she scurried inside like the woodland creature she resembled, Bea heard him call out in the lazy voice he so often used to address her.

 

“Nice walk?” he asked, not as casually as his tone suggested.

“Yes, thanks,” called Beatrice, as loudly as she dared. “I…it’s good for the baby.”

 _“My_ baby,” corrected Charles, tone still amicable.

“Y-yes,” stuttered Bea. “Good for your baby.”

 

Charles sauntered into the hallway, _his_ hallway, to get a good look at his wife. _His_ wife.

 

“Where were you last night?” Charles asked, eyes glinting as they did when he was at his most dangerous.

 

Beatrice’s poor little heart pounded.

“I…I was here,” she choked.

“No sweetheart…” Charles grinned tightly, a condescending tone in his voice and the endearment he used not meant so. _“I_ was here.”

 

Bea halted, she didn’t know if he was bluffing. He should have been at the docks.

“No…you were at work. I was here,” she lied hopefully.

 

She felt the hands on her shoulders, squeezing painfully hard before she could register that he had moved.

“DON’T QUESTION ME!” 

The shouted words hit like actual blows.

“I KNOW WHERE I WAS! DO YOU THINK I’M STUPID?”

 

No, he wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t. _She_ was the stupid one. _She_ was.

 

“I…” 

Bea began to cry.

Charles snorted in disgust.

“So,” he sneered. “Is that what you do at your little Suffrage meetings? Cry?”

 

Bea gasped. How did he know?

 

“Robert said he’s seen you out with the leaflets,” Charles said, palpable anger in his voice. _“And_ Barry.”

Bea was shaking. She was under too much pressure to deny it properly.

 

Charles looked at his wife, suspicions confirmed. Women’s. Rights. She was disgusting.

 

“And the best part?” Charles laughed, slightly hysterically. “The _best_ part is I know why you’ve been hanging around with all those women.”

He leaned in closer.

“Because you are a _lesbian!”_ he hissed.

“What?” asked Beatrice, eyebrows shooting up in complete innocence.

 

Charles threw back his head and laughed.

“Shall I act it out?” he wheezed, the laughter coming to an abrupt end. “Like charades? I don’t even know if I _could._  

 

He adopted the tone he often used to _educate_ Beatrice.

 

“You… _like_ women,” he said slowly, nodding his head to help her understand. “You are _attracted_ to women!”

 

He looked at the piece of dirt in front of him with revulsion, the piece of dirt who was in fact having a bit of a revelation.

 

_I like women? I … like women?_

 

_I like women._

 

Now she got it. That’s why Nan said her neighbours would talk. And do you know what? Bea didn’t care a jot if they did.

 

_…A progeny could be…anything to me they wanted…_

 

Bea was silent.

 

Nan felt the same way, didn't she? This was what it was all about, why Mr Flanagan didn’t exist.

 

“And you’re not even bothering to deny it!” Charles cried with fake triumph.

 

In fact, he was a little worried. He’d just been trying to psyche her out a bit, not…he hadn’t meant for Beatrice to actually _be_ one. She…she was _his wife!_ She wasn’t _allowed_ to do that!

 

“So,” he snarled, improvising, desperate to remain in control. “We are going to move away where none of those evil women can ever get your hands on you again.”

 

Yes, _that_ was the solution. Poor innocent Beatrice was just being _exploited,_ she wasn’t really a…a…one of _them._

 

“Move!” she gasped, wrenched suddenly from a sudden swell of possibilities. “But Charles, what about your _job?_ This _house?”_

 

Job? What about his job?

 

“You think I can’t make rational decisions?” he challenged, shrilly.

“THIS _ISN’T_ RATIONAL!” shouted Beatrice.

 

Shouted. She’d _shouted._

 

Charles felt the conversation slipping from his control, so he did the only thing he could. 

 

He hit. And hit hard.

 

Perhaps he wouldn’t have kept hitting if he knew that every bruise on Bea’s body would translate into another hour he would have to wait before his killer _finally_ let him die.

 

“We are moving!” he shouted. “Tomorrow! And you can go and tell your lesbian lover goodbye!”

 

Bea blacked out.

 

Meanwhile, Bea’s vampire was settling down for an uneasy rest. She really shouldn’t have let Beatrice go back home, Nan knew that.

 

So, even before the first star could be seen in the sky, Nan was up, dressed and waiting for Beatrice with the water already boiling on the stove. And if she didn’t arrive, Nan was coming to fetch her.

 

She couldn’t possibly let such a precious human, precious _woman,_ stay with that abusive bastard. 

 

But something was bothering her. All Beatrice’s problems would be fixed with a simple glamour on Charles, she could live a happy human life with her husband, who damn right would treat her properly. But for some reason, Nan didn’t want her to be with him, _at all, however_ he treated her. Bizarre indeed.

 

After nearly three whole minutes of waiting, Nan decided she’d had enough. She’d go and fetch Beatrice. This had gone on far to fucking lo-

 

The doorbell rang, and even from inside, Nan could smell her human.

 

She opened the door eagerly to see-

 

“Christ _Almighty_ Bea!” gasped Nan, looking Beatrice up and down. “You walked here by _yourself?_ In _this_ state?”

Nan snatched the little human inside.

“I knew you’d protect me!” said Bea, voice a little slurred. 

 

With a will like Beatrice’s, alcohol could be found even in the times of Prohibition. The human was almost magic in that way.

 

She was also drunk.

 

In Nan’s human life, being _that_ drunk meant a nice cold dip in the cow-shitty river and a sharp telling-off from the Mother Superior…which had been _Nan,_ but Beatrice didn’t look like someone who should be punished. There was an angry red welt across her cheek and her jaw was bruised… she had a black eye…there were marks on her throat….

 

_That fucking husband!_

 

“How could I protect you on the way here if I don’t know you’re coming?” snapped Nan, slamming the door so the damn human didn’t _run off_ again.

 

It was imperative that Bea learnt that there were limits to what the powers of a vampire allowed.

 

“Be- _cause_ …”

Beatrice’s drunken logic tried to come up with that answer.

“Because you drank my blood! So you’d know!” she gushed.

“No, that’s if _you_ drink _my_ blood,” corrected Nan coldly as she scrutinised her human who had _not_ been returned in proper condition.

“I want to do that!” cried Bea eagerly, leaning in close.

 

Nan leapt away.

“No, my blood is the _last_ thing you need right now. You’re drunk enough as it is. Now let me get you a glass of water.”

 

Nan stormed into the kitchen, her anger merely a front, because she was actually very concerned about what had happened to get Beatrice in this state.

 

She went to find Bea, who had an unfortunate habit of wandering off, but instead of waiting for Nan in the living room, Nan found the human making herself very comfortable in her bed.

 

“Good idea,” said Nan gently. “Have a good sleep then we can talk tomorrow.”

“Only if you come in too,” Bea said, pulling the sheets back.

“I sleep in a coffin,” said Nan, humourlessly.

Bea giggled. 

“Well,” she said. “Could you suspend that for the moment?”

“Sure,” said Nan acidly. “Because it’s the nighttime, when I don’t sleep at all.”

 

“Make an exception,” commanded Beatrice loftily, in an extremely Nan-like way. 

She wasn’t taking no for an answer.

“If you drink this water and attempt to explain to me what’s going on then yes, I will ‘make an exception’,” said Nan, fighting the urge to smile at Bea’s imitation.

 

Beatrice beamed, showing her dimples.

 

Nan sat down very stiffly on the bed.

 _“In_ the bed, thank you very much,” instructed Bea. _“That_ was our agreement.”

Nan got in the bed and pulled the covers up to her waist.

“Happy?” she asked the human, snappily, though she was secretly amused.

“Very,” said Beatrice, leaning her head on Nan’s shoulder with a sigh.

 

Absently, Nan started to stroke her human’s head.

 

“So,” she said quietly. “Have I earned my explanation?”

“Yes, but I haven’t drunk my water yet,” garbled Beatrice, playfully.

Nan handed her the glass.

Bea took a sip.

 

“Now?” asked Nan.

Bea grinned and shook her head.

“Nuh, uh,” she said dreamily. “I still have to…”

 

Nan took hold of Bea’s wrists gently and looked her deep in the eyes, searchingly.

“Busy Bea,” she said. “What happened?”

 

“We…we were moving. And…” 

Bea’s forehead furrowed. 

“And I didn’t _want_ to! I wanted to stay! Charles found out about the Suffrage meetings and he went _crazy_ and he was going to move me away, tomorrow. But…”

He eyed gleamed with tears.

“Nan I would _die_ without the Suffrage movement. I _need_ to see the day when women get equal rights!”

 

Nan gave Beatrice a cuddle.

 

“Well you’re not going back to him,” she said firmly. “So there’s no need to get upset.”

“That’s what I thought too!” said Bea, pleased with her ingenuity. 

She and Nan were practically the same person! 

 

“I’m going to live with _you_ instead! So I ran away!”

Bea’s eyes were shining in excitement.

“I’m going to live with you!” she repeated happily, snuggling up to her vampire.

 

Nan was _shocked,_ but more than shock was… _relief._ She was _glad_ that Bea was going to stay with her.

 

“Are you _sure?”_ Nan asked carefully.

Beatrice nodded enthusiastically. Of _course_ she was.

 

“…And Charles knows about this?” queried Nan haltingly.

“…Not exactly!” 

Bea pointed to her bruised face. 

“Didn’t want to trip over too many rugs in one day!”

 

Nan stiffened. That man was going to die. Soon.

 

“Al… _right_ then,” said Nan, actually smiling. “You _can_ be my human, full time. Deal.”

 

Hearing what she had been waiting for, Bea leaned over ecstatically, seized the vampire by the hollow cheeks and _kissed_ her. _Kissed_ her! On the _lips!_  

 

Nan went completely rigid in shock.

 

Bea pulled away to look at her precious vampire. Nan didn’t know what encouragement the human had seen in her eyes but she leaned in to try again.

 

“Bea, you are _drunk,”_ said Nan, firmly dislodging Beatrice. “No.”

“But _you’re_ not drunk!” said Bea frantically. “And _you_ want to! You always have done! _Kiss_ me! _Bite_ me!”

“Don’t tell me what I want!” said Nan sharply. “And how _dare_ you touch me when I do not allow it!”

 

The rejection was one blow more than she could take. Beatrice started to cry.

 

“Oh Bea,” said Nan gently, face crumpling, taking one of the human’s tiny hands in her own. “I didn’t mean that…you just…surprised me a little. Why did you…?”

“Because, _Nan!”_ Bea sobbed. “You-you’re my best friend and-and I love you so _much!”_

 

_Ah._

 

“Beatrice,” said Nan formally. “You are drunk and you don’t mean that.”

“I do!” cried Bea passionately. “I’m just brave enough to say it!”

 

The human looked very, very hopeful all of a sudden. Maybe Nan did too.

 

“And…” began the Busy Bea, making busy plans. “I just thought maybe…If you got fed up of looking after me all the time…and me being bait and stuff…”

 

Nan squirmed guiltily. She would _not_ be doing _that_ again.

 

“…You could make me a vampire and we could lead the Suffrage movement together! Right to the end!”

 

Nan stared at Bea. It would be…different, sure but an eternity with Bea…that wasn’t…that wasn’t actually such an unpleasant prospect.

 

“We could live where was convenient,” said the human, a little more shyly now. “And I’ll be out at night, so I won’t disturb you. I won’t be a nuisance. And I’ll just need somewhere to sleep in the day… or I’ll just sleep under the bridge where it’s dark. I won’t _eat_ anyone or break any _laws_ and I’ll be no trouble, Honest!” 

The human gasped for breath after her outpouring.

 

She looked at Nan with desperation.

 

“No, of course you won’t!” said Nan, with a sad smile. “Of course you wouldn’t be any trouble!”

 

_Oh Busy Bea!_

 

“But you are having a _baby,”_ she said sternly. “And if you’re dead like me, then you can’t carry a baby. Do you understand? You will _lose_ your _child.”_

 

Bea’s lack of reaction to this just showed how out of her mind she really was.

“But, we could _wait!”_ she cried. “I don’t mind! I just…please Nan…”

 

Bea looked at Nan, no, _through_ Nan. The vampire’s resolve was weakening.

 

But not tonight.

 

“Bea,” said Nan looking her in the eyes. “I’m listening to you, alright, and I’m thinking. But I have to take everything you’ve said tonight to me with a pinch of salt because you are not _sober,_ are you?”

 

Beatrice shook her head happily.

 

“Okay, tomorrow, we will have this conversation,” mumbled Nan softly to her human. “But not _now.”_

 

Nan leaned in to kiss Bea on the forehead but though better of it. That would just be encouraging her.

“Sleep” she ordered, as she went to leave the bed.

“Stay,” retorted Bea in her lovely voice, with her earnest face and her wide smile and those dimples…

 

Nan did as she was told. Perhaps not savouring enough that fond word which was the last she’d hear Beatrice speak for nearly a hundred years.

 

 

 

_-x-_

 

 

_Nan had fallen asleep, so here came her memory. And it was…well it was abstract, but even Nan’s unconscious mind couldn’t fail to see the symbolism._

 

_She’s in Siberia, having some alone time. The other Authority vampires are just intolerable at the moment._

 

_It’s winter, so it’s dark for most of the day and Nan’s free to wander through the unforgiving landscape. She climbs up a mountain, as you do, to watch the northern lights. They are just beautiful but below them, the landscape is bleak. She’s been walking for hours now, at vampiric speed, and there’s just…nothing._

 

_She turns to look over the plain across which she’s just walked, a single set of footprints in the snow._

 

_Nothing._

 

_Then, she looks ahead to the eternity that she will have to walk._

 

_Nothing. Showing no intention of stopping._

 

_She knows there must be a drop-off somewhere - an aching chasm, but she can’t see that yet. If only she’d been able to see those lights for the uphill journey…_

 

And her decision is made. She’s going to be a maker.

 

However, life, and death, are not that kind.

 

_-x-_

 

 

 

 

Nan woke to find Bea’s side of the bed empty…and cold.

Nan hoped that she hadn’t been sick or anything, she really had been very drunk.

 

Bea wasn’t in the bathroom, or the kitchen where she may have gone to fetch some food but there was something there. A letter. It seemed the search of the rest of the apartment would not have to continue.

 

_Hello Nan! Just Bea!_

 

_I just wanted to thank you for looking after me last night and to apologise for anything offensive that I may have said (I’m embarrassed to say that I was drunk, but of course, I think you will have noticed that!)._

 

_I don’t remember a thing! (That’s humans for you I suppose!)._

 

_What I may, or may not have told you is that Charles and I were planning to move, and since I’m so fond of the area I’ve gone back to dissuade him, so I’ll tell you later how well that goes!_

 

_Not to invade upon your hospitality, but if you wouldn’t mind perhaps I could stay with you for a little while? just a few days if it’s not too much trouble, I promise I’ll be on my best behaviour!_

 

_I’ll come back later this afternoon (you may not have even woken up by then in which case I apologise for wasting your nice paper) and maybe we could talk about some things. There is something serious I need to ask you._

 

_Until then, I hope you enjoy your sleep (you look like an angel when you’re unconscious, by the way, and how on Earth you curl up so tiny, I’ll never know)._

 

_I’ll see you very soon!_

 

She had signed the letter with a quick, and really rather good, drawing of a bumble bee.

 

 

If she ever stooped to such lows, Nan may have panicked.

 

She went _back_ to him? Is she _insane?_ What item is so important to her that she has to _back_ for it?

 

He is going to _kill_ her!

 

Nan knew that it was light outside. She was _helpless._ She couldn’t save Beatrice and he was… he was… _hurting_ her. He was _taking her away!_

 

Nan balled herself onto the floor and shook with silent screams of frustration. She should have fed Beatrice her blood! Then she would be able to track her. Damn it! All because she was being noble and wanted to be sure that Bea’s feelings were genuine and didn’t force her blood upon her, even to heal her injuries.

 

She breathed deeply.

 

_Alright, alright. This is what I’ll do. I’ll go out at dark. I’ll go to the apartment and I’ll bring Bea back to me. If they’ve already left town…then I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it._

 

She did come to it. 

 

The little house was empty. Nan was…she was…she felt so…she felt…

 

 _No! Enough of this nonsense,_ she thought sternly. _Action!_

 

She ran to the Authority building in Brooklyn and dispatched spies to _every_ corner of the country. She’d find her, she would. And after four months of frantic searching she finally did. Bea was in Seattle.

 

 _Seattle._ Now, who did Nan know in Seattle? Ah, yes _Cullen._ He’d do nicely. And he owed her a fucking favour. She wrote to him explaining the situation.

 

Three weeks later, when Nan had still had no word from him, she called his surgery. She’d say it was an emergency.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooooohhhhh dear.
> 
> So, at this point, both stories are up to speed - Nan’s phone call is the emergency that Carlisle had to dash off for before he could tell Esme the truth of what his blood did to her. 
> 
> It may be quite an…awkward call.
> 
> Stay tuned! :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick one. 
> 
> And yes, I know it's been a while since the last update. 
> 
> I apologise. 
> 
> But I should be picking up the pace soon enough (promises, promises).
> 
> And thank you to everyone who has read, and is still reading this fic. - it means a lot that the eventual shit-show that will be created between Nan and Carlisle will have a healthy audience.
> 
> On with the chapter!

 

 

**Seattle, November 1921**

 

 

“This looks like a surgeon’s work,” said the forensics doctor interestedly. “Very…precise. Precisely to cause pain, that is. And I would say that tools were used - it would be impossible for bare hands to snap bone like this.”

 

He tried to mime what a person would have had to have done. Tried.

 

“And he may have let a doctor enter,” Detective Brice added. “Which would explain why there was no break in. Presumably he trusted his killer.”

 

“So somebody he knew?” Peters confirmed, though his own thoughts had drifted in a similar direction already.

 

“Could have been his wife,” suggested another officer daringly. “Where has she been since then?”

 

“The killer took her!” Brice snapped in frustration. “I thought we established this!”

 

“Yes,” Peters said numbly. “No woman is capable of this.”

 

“Nor is an man…” reminded the forensics specialist, and he didn’t just mean physically incapable.

 

“Gentleman,” said Brice darkly. “We are looking for a monster.”

 

 

**Seattle, August 1921**

 

 

Carlisle arrived, panting rather convincingly and rather dashingly windswept, at the clinic to take his call. It seemed Esme would have a few more hours of relative happiness before he took it all away again, exposed the monster he really was.

 

 

Skidding into the office, Carlisle say Mrs Jackson fling her eyes impatiently toward the telephone.

 

“Here is the number,” she said, handing him a slip of paper before turning back to her typewriter.

 

Carlisle took it with a quick breathless thanks and made his way to the phone.

 

A child’s fever? Heart attack?

 

“Doctor Cullen,” Carlisle said urgently after he had been connected. “What is the emergency?”

 

“I don’t know,” said a cold voice, a familiar voice.

 

Carlisle’s gut twisted.

 

“Why don’t you tell me?” the voice continued. “Why have you not been in touch?”

 

“Ms Flanagan…I,” choked Carlisle. “…Th-there was nothing to report.”

 

“Nothing… to report,” repeated the voice slowly, with the skill of making the words sound ridiculous. 

 

The voice got angrier.

 

“There should not be _nothing to report,_ I asked you to find her so there would be a _report.”_

 

“I…I have found her,” said Carlisle so quickly it was a wonder he was understood.

 

“Good,” said the voice without inflection. “How is she?”

 

“She…”

 

Carlisle crushed his fist to his forehead.

 

How could he phrase it?

 

“She attempted to take her own life,” he burst quickly.

 

Nan took in a sharp breath.

 

“Attempted?” she accentuated carefully. 

 

“Y-yes,” stammered Carlisle. “But she’s still alive.”

 

“Yes, I know what _attempted_ means,” snapped Nan caustically.

 

It sounded like on the other end of the phone she was in as much discomfort. 

 

“And sounds like _somebody’s_ not been taking very good care of her.”

 

Nan’s voice was growing louder and sharper with each word.

 

“Why did she attempt suicide? That seems very unlike her. She was a _happy_ human.”

 

 _Happy…human?_ Thought Carlisle. _Seriously? Who says thing like th-_

 

“Cullen! Answer me!”

 

“I…I don’t know…” he said, too quickly.

 

There was silence on the other side of the line. A deep silence.

 

“Dr Cullen,” said Nan very dangerously. “Are you… _lying,_ to me?”

 

“She…she lost the baby,” Carlisle said, spiting the words out as if they hurt, hating himself. “The husband-”

 

Nan hissed angrily.

“Poor effort Carlisle. Your dept is not repaid. However…no baby…it’s probably for the best.”

 

Carlisle felt sick.

 

“So,” said Nan, all business. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. I am glad I found her you know, took months of searching. Should have fed her my blood while I had the chance. But hey, that’s hindsight for you.”

 

Carlisle froze.

 

_Wh-what?_

 

“Well,” said Nan perkily, not realising the effect of her cheerful words. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Three nights? Make sure she’s well fed, and she’d better still be there when I get there.”

 

Nan put the phone down.

 

Carlisle put his head down.

 

In his hands.

 

He slid onto the floor, in a very human way. He was in despair!

 

_What have I done? I am a monster. Nan never fed Esme her blood. Esme loved her…because she loved her! I have…I have forced myself into Esme’s heart, into her dreams and she…and I…_

 

Carlisle sobbed helplessly. The only human, no, the only _person_ he’d only truly loved in that way was bound to him, against her will, she never love him, not really.

 

He started thinking.

 

Maybe…maybe if he met the true death his blood would wane in Esme’s body. But Edward…

 

He writhed in turmoil.

 

He was a monster, as bad as the devil! As bad as…

 

 _No,_ he thought suddenly. _He was not as bad as Nan Flanagan._

 

_Right._

 

He leapt up and carefully wiped the blood from his eyes and cheeks.

 

Flanagan may not have tricked Esme with her blood but she had certainly not told her what she was letting herself in for. And if he died protecting Esme…which face it he probably would, and in _agony,_ then he would have perhaps partially redeemed himself. Edward need not have any part in this, but he would be damned if that vampire got anywhere near Esme… 

 

…and damned if he didn’t.

 

He had nothing left to lose.


	5. Chapter 5

**Seattle, January 1922**

 

“Detective Brice, sir,” squawked the journalist, camera angled between Brice and his destination, known now in the media as ‘Platt’s Place’. “Any leads yet?”

 

“None that I can tell you,” he growled in reply, attempting to bat the irritating man out of his way.

 

“And what about Platt’s wife?” tittered another of the swarm. “Have you found her? Is she a suspect?”

 

At the mention of dear Mrs Platt, Brice turned to the flock of buzzards which had started to follow him almost everywhere, hoping for more grizzly details. No, no they had not found her. And that meant one of three things.

 

One: she killed Mr Platt and ran, or was in league with his killer.

 

Two: she was taken by the killer against her will and was still alive.

 

Or three: sometime very soon, there would be another building for the reporters to flock around with another very mangled body inside.

 

“I can’t tell you!” Brice snapped. “So I suggest you gentlemen go home and be grateful for your own lives!”

 

And with that, Brice entered once again the living nightmare which comprised of the last four wall Mr Charles Platt ever saw.

 

 

 

**Seattle, August 1921**

 

 

Esme bounced her leg up and down on the ball of her foot as she sat by the fire waiting for Carlisle to return.

 

He’d been so long! Was he alright?

 

Launching herself out of the chair, Esme flitted to the window and peeked out at the night through the lace curtains.

 

No sign of the man!

 

“Here, Esme,” Edward offered kindly, patting the seat beside himself. “Sit down, he may not be back for a while if the emergency is very severe.”

 

Esme complied but couldn’t stop fidgeting. It was as if she couldn’t feel quite _well_ unless Carlisle was there. She couldn’t explain it. Never had she ever felt like this, certainly not with her parents and Charles and not even with-

 

“Perhaps I’ll go and make myself some tea,” muttered Esme distractedly, suddenly on her feet again.

“Good idea,” said Edward over the top of his newspaper, with a small frown. 

 

Why the agitation?

 

Esme boiled some water on the stove, spilling it a little as her usually-so-sure hands quivered and her arms trembled.

 

She took the cup of tea in her hand. It shook. Why on Earth?

 

 _Don’t bloody drink it then!_ Sang the demon of memory.

 

Esme’s eyes filled up with tears and she put the saucer down before it could slip from her grasp.

 

 _“Damn_ you, Nan Flanagan,” she breathed with tears beginning to sting her huge eyes.

 

She really felt like hurling the cup and watching it smash against the wall, and realised that’s probably exactly what Nan would have done.

 

Esme started to cry in earnest. Her heart should be breaking. But it felt numbed, as if her body was under some strange anaesthetic.

 

Carlisle, she realised, she needed Carlisle. Immediately. And if she didn’t she would…she would most probably _die!_

 

“Edward,” she called, rather hysterically. “Are you _quite_ sure Carlisle won’t be back soon?”

 

Edward leapt out of his chair, nerves jangling with the sense of emergency.

 

“Esme! Gosh, Esme!” he gushed, dashing forwards to examine her for signs of damage. “Are you alright?”

 

“I…I think I might go to bed now,” she whispered weakly.

 

 _Wilting_ almost.

 

“Yes, you do that,” nodded Edward, concerned.

 

Had he not looked after her properly?

 

“I’m sure you’ll feel better for a little sleep,” he added.

 

Esme bobbed her head obediently, though she would have thought seeing Carlisle would be worth all the sleep-deprivation in the world - it was only she didn’t want him to see her in such a state. 

 

Imagine!

 

Why, she wasn’t the most alluring of people at the best of times.

 

As if knowing what she was thinking, Edward gave her a watery smile.

 

“Come on, Esme,” he comforted softly. “You’ll feel better, you will.”

 

However, for many hours, the wrenching of scepticism and fear squeezed at Esme’s gut and she was awake even when she heard the front door open and peace be restored to the world.

 

Tears rolled glassy down her cheeks, tears of loneliness, regret, and the overwhelming feeling that change was coming.

 

Unable to face the most important man in the world, Esme pretended to be asleep as the soft footsteps approached the bed, footsteps she’d know anywhere.

 

After years with Charles, Esme could emulate sleep so well even a vampire couldn’t tell she wasn’t conscious.

 

She was so good she didn’t flinch as she felt a cool hand tenderly brush her head.

 

“Esme,” the doctor murmured.

 

He sounded so tired and she yearned to comfort him.

 

 “You are very precious,” he whispered, sounding closer still, so close she felt the stroke of his breath on her cheek. “So, _so_ precious…and I’m sorry if I can’t protect you - you deserve the happiest life in the world.”

 

He kissed her on the head.

 

“Sleep well, my love,” he said, and left the room.

 

Esme’s eyes snapped open in disbelief.

 

She had been dreaming, dreaming surely. Though she could still smell the tang of his aftershave in the air.

 

She should go to him! 

 

Esme began to eagerly shift the covers when she realised she’d have to explain that she’d been awake…which may be a little awkward. And Edward was correct - there was always tomorrow.

 

However, Esme’s imagination took no time in declaring the two of them soulmates, so when she eventually fell asleep, I’m sure it’s easy to guess who she dreamt of.

 

While Esme was dreaming, Carlisle was being scrutinised by his progeny.

 

“Flanagan?” Edward asked at last, reading the bitter determination of his maker’s face.

 

Carlisle nodded.

 

“Yes,” he huffed, looking taut. “And now we’re in big, big trouble. We have three days to get as far away as possible.”

 

He tugged his hand through his hair, more aggressively than the habit was usually performed.

 

“Edward, you need not have a part in this,” he gushed. “And I’m sorry beyond words for any danger I have put you in by association to me.”

 

“Risking your own progeny for a girl,” Edward tutted, but looked more amused than disappointed, or afraid. “She must mean an awful lot to you.”

 

Carlisle turned to him, and Edward felt s stab of shock as he saw tears in his maker’s eyes.

 

“Edward, she’s everything,” he breathed desperately. “Though of course I don’t want you to feel like you are being replaced..”

 

Edward smirked.

 

“I…don’t really think she fills my… _niche,”_ he said with slow suggestiveness.

 

Carlisle managed a breathy laugh.

 

“Well, yes, I suppose that is true.”

 

“But you’re still not sure?” Edward asked, sensing hesitation in Carlisle’s reply.

 

His maker confirmed this with a dip of his head on hopelessness.

 

“Edward, my blood,” he rasped. “My _blood._ _How_ can I ever be sure she even likes me, let alone-”

 

“Carlisle,” said Edward seriously. “She loved you before your blood. I promise you.”

 

“Edward,” Carlisle warned sharply. “Don’t lie to me. Not about this.”

 

“It’s true.”

 

Edward smiled indulgently.

 

“You’re both so similar, but yet different enough to harmonise,” he said softly. “It’s like listening to a chord. It’s just _right.”_

 

Carlisle smiled sadly. It was just like Edward to explain things musically.

 

“She waits for you,” Edward continued. “Every evening. She’s besotted with you. On the first night she came here she drew this…”

 

With a whisper of wind, Edward had vanished then re-appeared with the sketch of Carlisle laughing.

 

The real-life article wore a very different expression.

 

His jaw had dropped and he reached for the paper in a daze.

 

“Of _me?”_ he whispered.

 

 _“For_ you,” Edward corrected.

 

Carlisle was speechless.

 

“A beautiful artist,” the young vampire continued. “And…a wonderful wife and mother.”

 

Carlisle’s head snapped to his progeny’s.

 

“You think of her that way? As a mother?” he demanded, with a passion of not anger but hope.

 

“Yes,” Edward continued mildly. “And _you_ of _her_ that way.”

 

This revelation acted to demonstrate why Carlisle was often likened to the sun. He lit up and shone with his smile.

 

“And now you tell her,” Edward decided, giddy with the second-hand happiness their maker bond and his empathy provided. “And then you’ll know for sure.”

 

He moved to put his hand on his maker’s shoulder.

 

“But for now,” he followed, with considerable weight, bringing the two of them back to the present somewhat. “…I think we have some plans to make.”

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next bit!

**Seattle, February 1922**

 

“Thomas, honey, you need to _rest,”_ said Mrs Brice as she dared to lead her husband’s gaze away from his papers from the case. “You’ll get no further with that tonight.”

 

Detective Brice sighed and tilted his face to his wife, Mary, who was a plain woman but very kind.

 

“I’ll get no further with it tomorrow either,” he said sadly, throwing his fountain pen onto the desk where it blotted the paper.

 

Mrs Brice pursed her lips.

“Tom, come to bed now,” she said sternly, ruffling his hair a little. “You’ll only get more discouraged. Don’t forsake the living for the dead.”

 

“You’re too wise, Mary,” he growled in reply. “Better off on the investigation than half of the men I have now, I should think.”

 

“That’s very kind of you, darling,” she answered, teasing his cheeks into a smile before she retreated to the bathroom to put her curlers in.”

 

“I just don’t understand how a man could hate someone enough to do this,” Brice called to her before she disappeared around the door frame.

 

“Maybe it wasn’t for hate,” Mary said thoughtfully, turning back to her very tired detective. “Maybe it was for love.”

 

 

**Seattle, September 1921**

 

The next morning when Esme woke, it was to the smell of baking gingerbread and the clench of fear that the events of the previous night weren’t real, merely some sick figment of her imagination conjured to replace the physical torture that had been missing since Charles was no longer a part of her life.

 

Charles.

 

Honestly, she hadn’t thought about him in a longer time than she would have thought possible. Perhaps…perhaps she should tell him about the baby, it had been his child too.

 

Her stomach knotted anxiously as she wondered what she ought to do, though the feeling vanished instantly as she rounded the corner to the kitchen and set eyes upon her beloved vampire.

 

“Good morning!” she sang before her face dived into a blush at the loudness and enthusiasm of her greeting.

 

“Good morning Esme,” Edward smiled, before swivelling to give Carlisle the more mischievous variant of the expression.

 

“Good morning,” his maker grinned. “And may I compliment you on how pretty you look, Esme.”

 

Edward raised an eyebrow. That forward, Carlisle?

 

But it seemed as though the waiting was over.

 

Esme looked frankly shocked, but not offended.

 

“So do you!” she burst happily before she realised what she had said.

 

The doctor looked down modestly before composing himself in order to make his proposition.

 

“Now, Esme,” he began, still rather abashed. “I have the evening off tonight so what do you say to a trip to the movies? I hear Little Lord Fauntleroy is playing tonight.”

 

“A movie Carlisle!” Esme squealed, eyes shining. “Of course!”

 

Esme swung her gaze to where Edward had been standing to find him conveniently absent.

 

Carlisle cleared his throat a little sheepishly.

 

“And…I was wondering,” he said quietly. “If you would not be offended if I called it a date.”

 

He looked at Esme gingerly, as if she would explode for his boldness, but happily her expression betrayed nothing but joy.

 

“I’d love to call it a date,” she said with a soft smile.

 

So a date it was. Carlisle and Esme went without Edward, who was taking the opportunity to furiously plan their escape.

 

It was a treat for Carlisle to be able to take Esme out and she looked lovely - she’d brushed her long autumn hair over one shoulder leaving one of her perfect little ears peeking out, over which she had to keep brushing a particularly stubborn curl which just wouldn’t comply with her new style.

 

As they walked past the windows, Carlisle could see Esme peering, fascinated, into the other people’s lives.

 

“It’s so funny to see them all,” Esme said thoughtfully.

 

“The families?” asked Carlisle, using a thumb to brush the back of the little warm hand he clasped.

 

“The…humans,” admitted Esme with a laugh. “It seems so unfamiliar to me now.”

 

“Much of a vampire’s life is spent on the outside looking in,” Carlisle said gruffly. “It’s one of the sad realities of being what we are.”

 

“Because of the secrecy laws? Right? But…what if human all knew about vampires?” Esme experimented. “Would it be better? Could humans and vampires live side by side?”

 

Carlisle gave a laugh.

 

“I shouldn’t think so,” he said gently. “Not all humans are as open-mined as you Esme.”

 

Esme looked down sadly, thinking she had been foolish. Carlisle was right - of course it wasn't possible.

 

They continued to walk, gazing through the glass at humanity, until in one sitting room there was a family with a young baby. Esme sighed.

 

“It would have been lovely,” she said wistfully, curing her hand tighter with Carlisle’s. “My very own _baby.”_

 

Carlisle stopped, a horrible thought suddenly occurring to him.

 

“You…still could have a baby…” he said slowly.

 

How had he forgotten that the whole _world_ was full of fertile human men that Esme might want to be with now that Charles was not longer a part of her life.

 

 _Because I’m a vampire,_ he thought bitterly. _And for us, only our own self is important._

 

Esme turned to Carlisle and took his other hand in hers, forcing him to face her.

 

“But you can’t,” she whispered, confused.

 

He dropped his eyes for a moment and then spoke.

 

“Others can…”

 

“No!” Esme cried, perhaps louder than she had intended. “But they’re not _you_ Carlisle! _You_ are the only man I could ever love.”

 

“Esme,” Carlisle breathed helplessly overcome by emotion. “You don’t mean that. I have to tell you something.”

 

“What?” she asked, eyes like big candied-apples.

 

“My blood didn’t only heal you…it…”

 

Carlisle couldn’t put the words to it.

 

“It what?” asked Esme.

 

“Vampire blood makes humans…makes you,” Carlisle choked. “…It makes you…attracted to the vampire. In a…romantic way. It makes you dream of them…”

 

Esme gasped, them giggled.

 

“So you’ve known all along?” she asked. “What I’ve been feeling?”

 

Carlisle looked pained.

 

“But it’s artificial,” he said quickly, feeling like he was calving out his own heart. “It’s not real affection.”

 

There was a beat of silence.

 

“If it’s any different,” Esme admitted slowly, staring into his eyes. “I thought you were quite possibly the most handsome man in the world from the moment I saw you.”

 

Esme moved one of her hands solemnly to rest on the vampire’s chest.

 

“Your blood didn’t change the way I felt about you.”

 

“Es…” he gasped, burying his nose in her shoulder as he squeezed her to him.

 

After they broke apart, the couple grinned their way to the movie theatre, swinging their hands as they went, the vampire forgetting the pressing threat in order to appreciate his beautiful Esme.

 

They found their seats while Esme rattled off facts and gossip about the stars of the movie, the plot, the reviews, the costumes and the backdrop, sounding a lot more like the woman who had lived in New York.

 

And there! Look! It was starting!

 

Carlisle watched Esme who watched with, as always, rapt attention as the movie stars flitted across the screen to the piano accompaniment. Carlisle was quite glad for Edward’s absence at this point as the boy was a harsh critic of most music - including his own. It also featured Mary Pickford who annoyed Edward but was one of Esme’s favourites. However, as she watched, Esme began to feel a little uncomfortable…then extremely anxious.

 

Something wasn’t right.

 

She felt her palm growing clammy around Carlisle’s bigger hand. Too big hand.

 

Something was…something…

 

Mary Pickford smiled.

 

Though lightheaded, Esme stood up.

 

“Excuse me,” she breathily  to the person next to her who looked a little put out at having the movie interrupted. “I don’t feel quite well…”

 

She ran out of the theatre, tears pouring down her cheeks. Something was wrong. Something was missing. Something was lost. 

 

She felt the ache of a fantom limb, or a phantom heart as she drew her artist’s hands to her chest and felt the absence of feeling.

 

What on Earth was it?

 

“Esme! Esme!” called Carlisle, running towards her at, thankfully, a visible pace.

 

“Carlisle!” she wept shakily. “What’s happening to me?”

 

She leant her head against his chest. He was her rock in stormy waters.

 

Carlisle felt her heart rate and took in lungfuls of her scent.

 

Instead of telling her she seemed fine, which he was tactful enough to know not to do, Carlisle pulled the trembling woman into his arms.

 

They stood there, in the freezing cold for a long while, though neither of them made any attempt to move.

 

“I don’t think I could survive without you,” Esme murmured into the lapels of his jacket.

 

“Nor I you, Esme,” Carlisle replied, meaning it from the bottom of his heart.

 

And _finally,_ he leaned in and kissed her.

 

They were so absorbed in each other that not even Carlisle’s vampiric senses heard the snap of the camera.

 

Nan’s spies had gone nowhere.

 

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all!
> 
> To explain before you read the chapter, Mary Pickford and Enid Bennett were famous movie stars throughout the 1910s and onwards and Lucile was the professional name of a designer who contributed to that iconic 1920s style evening gown with the low over-hung waistline and quite a figure-less fit which is what Bea was trying to replicate.
> 
> Hope you like it!

**Seattle, February 1922**

 

Detective Peters sat down heavily next to Detective Brice, who lifted his sleep-slurred eyes wearily to his co-worker and friend.

 

A shared burden is always less-so, they say, and it’s true, but the sixth week of the investigation was taking a toll on both of them.

 

“Six weeks,” Brice said hollowly.

 

“To the day,” Peters replied in the same flat tone.

 

Peters swilled the coffee around in his cup unenthusiastically. 

 

 _Christ, it should be whisky in there,_ he thought longingly.

 

But it wouldn’t do for a police officer to break the Prohibition laws. A lot of people thought the whole thing was garbage, but there were those who said Platt deserved what he got, seeing as he was found with a half-empty bottle of whisky…

 

Peters slapped the table, making Brice jump.

 

“Damn!” Brice burst, as he jumped out of his skin. “What’s the matter?”

 

“How did he get the alcohol?” Peters asked excitedly, kicking himself that nobody had thought of it before.

 

The whole police force had been so fascinated by the body that they had neglected, somewhat, the items smeared bloody around it.

 

“From some disreputable type, no doubt,” Brice answered with peaked interest. “He was a dock-worker, it comes in on the ships all the time.” 

 

“Yes,” said Peters, eyes glinting with inspiration. _“Illegally._ Maybe our Mr Platt wasn’t so squeaky clean after all…”

 

“And we’ve been speaking to the wrong people all along….”

 

 

 

**Wisconsin, September 1921**

 

 

The vampire charged with delivering updates to Nan Flanagan on the progress of her human while she rested for the day at her property in Wisconsin, was advised to make himself _extremely_ scarce before Flanagan opened the envelope containing the photographs.

 

This was wise, though did perhaps contribute to the destruction of three perfectly good Rembrandt originals when the vampire all but _exploded_ with rage and lacked any lesser being to kill when that happened.

 

The paper shook in her hand as she made out her beloved Beatrice being _assaulted_ by that pretentious cunt Cullen. He had Nan’s poor, childless human trapped between himself and a cold brick wall of a Seattle side-street as he forced himself upon her.

 

“FUCK!” she screamed as she swept a hand across her desk, clearing it of papers and freeing the piece of furniture to be flung against the wall where it shattered quite satisfactorily.

 

She buried her hands in her hair and kneaded her scalp painfully hard as she resisted the temptation to run straight to Seattle, sunlight be damned, and rip Cullen’s _fucking_ throat out.

 

But as Nan was a Chancellor of the Authority, and a vampire condemned to the darkness, that wouldn’t do.

 

Instead, Nan laid down, fuming, to rest, preparing to double back to New York and The Authority as soon as darkness fell. 

 

Seething in her handsome mahogany coffin, Nan closed her eyes, and felt the tendrils of death start to reclaim her…

 

 

_“Nan!” demands the Beatrice of memory playfully. “Oh, don’t be like that! You have such lovely hair! It’s like cornsilk!”_

 

_“It’s too short for you to braid, Bea,” sighs Nan, enjoying the exasperation of the human’s company. “Don’t be ridiculous.”_

 

_Bea grins._

 

_“But maybe I_ **_like_ ** _being a ridiculous human?” she asks pulling_ **_quite_ ** _the dastardly face. “Think about that? Besides we could curl it, I think you would look lovely with curls.”_

 

_Not waiting for an answer, with almost vampiric speed, Beatrice seizes the hairbrush she has brought with her and begins to attack her vampire with it._

 

_“Careful!” cries Nan as she feels a particularly hard yank._

 

_“Sorry!” mutters Beatrice, not sounding so._

 

_This is art, darling._

 

_Nan can see in the mirror that the human’s face is screwed up in concentration and smiles to herself._

 

**_Oh Bea._ **

 

_The assault of hairpins ensues but Beatrice tries her best to be gentle, despite her enthusiasm._

 

_And finally, it’s done. And actually looks…fairly impressive._

 

_Beatrice sighs contentedly and leans back on to the pile of fabric, magazines and candy wrappers that litter Nan’s chaise-long in her elegant sitting room. The vampire has just learnt how fascinating the combination of caffeine and sugar is upon her human._

 

_Bea scrutinises Nan who is smoking in really quite a coquettish way, she thinks, before the human wonders where on Earth that thought came from._

 

_“I need to take in the waist a little more,” Bea decides, advancing upon the helpless vampire with a tin of sewing pins._

 

_“Again?” Nan grumbles. “God, I wish I’d left you in that_ **_damn_ ** _alley way.”_

 

_“Miss Flanagan that is a horrible thing to say!” scolds Beatrice disapprovingly. “And what terrible language! I am embarrassed for you.”_

 

_“I don’t_ **_mean_ ** _it Bea,” Nan smiles truthfully. “I’m just a little jealous of your dressmaking skills.”_

 

_The vampire looks down at the dress she’s wearing, Bea’s very own creation, which is a rich midnight blue against her pale skin._

 

_“Very…_ **_Lucile_ ** _,” she adds._

 

_“That’s what I was hoping!” comes Bea’s chirpy voice from somewhere at Nan’s feet._

 

_The vampire feels the material shuffle._

 

_“And it must…_ **_drape,_ ** _you see…” Beatrice explains, through a muffled mouth full of pins. “Otherwise…it’s…not…fashionable…and…there!”_

 

_She drags Nan to her feet._

 

_“Perfect!”_

 

_“I’m glad I heal,” says Nan darkly to nobody in particular._

 

_“I’m glad it_ **_fits!_ ** _” Bea says breathlessly. “Who knew after years that this might actually be worn by someone? Turn around! Turn around!”_

 

_Nan gives her human a twirl and a small curtsey._

 

_“How’re we doing Busy Bea?”_

 

_Beatrice’s face screws up critically._

 

_“Alright for now,” she answers. “But I know I shall find something to change if I stare long enough.”_

 

_“Then don’t,” Nan says waspishly, sitting back down carefully but rather suddenly._

 

_Bea is thoughtful for a moment, wondering where these sharp moments of Nan’s come from. Often, they’ll be having a perfectly nice conversation and then Beatrice will say something to anger her and the vampire will slam shut like a clam, though nothing like Charles. Thinking about it, if Bea didn’t know any better, she might have said Nan was_ **_shy._ **

 

_“I don’t have any make-up on,” Nan laughs playfully, quickly re-arranging her scowl as if she has sensed Bea’s suspicions of weakness and is eager to dispel them._

 

_Instead of the continuation of the typical jesting argument about whether or not Nan really needed makeup since she was so_ **_wonderfully_ ** _pretty, Beatrice smiles slowly, wickedly._

 

_“Well we can’t have that!” she giggles, dipping in her handbag for the tube of brown lipstick she has  never been brave enough to even_ **_open_ ** _after she bought it in a fit of extremely secret madness._

 

_“Here,” Beatrice kneels over Nan’s lap with the tube of lipstick._

 

_Oh so gently, the human cups Nan’s face with her hand and begins to dab her lips feather-lightly with colour, her eyes crossed endearingly._

 

_Beatrice’s thumb parts the vampire’s lips._

 

_“Bea…” Nan bursts warningly, her eyes snapping open in panic._

 

_“Uh!” Bea says disapprovingly. “No talking, there’s nothing worse than smudged lipstick.”_

 

_With an eye-roll, and a slight clenching of her fists, Nan obliges._

 

_Why is Nan allowing herself to be touched like this? To be treated like a dressing-up doll?_

 

_In truth, she knows. But Beatrice most surely doesn’t, which is why it was damn important that Nan’s fangs stay in her mouth. It won’t do for the human to know how much Nan is_ **_really_ ** _enjoying her makeover._

 

_And then the human’s warmth is gone._

 

_“You look like a movie star!” she says, with big awe-struck eyes as she folds herself back onto the seat._

 

_“You think?” grins Nan._

 

_“Yes!”_

 

_“Which one?” Nan asks, pouting playfully to the delight of her human._

 

_“Mary Pickford,” replies Bea immediately, as it she’s thought abut it before._

 

_“Oh…_ **_now_ ** _I see,” purrs Nan, with a sultry bat of the eyelids. “‘The girl with the curls’.”_

 

_She turns to blow a kiss to Bea over her shoulder._

 

_The human blushes._

 

_“And now you need jewels,” says a suddenly very pink Beatrice, scampering to her feet. “And a feather boa.”_

 

_“Steady on Bea,” warns Nan with a smirk._

 

_“Where are your sparkles, Nan?” she calls from the next room. “I know you must have some! Not silver, obviously but…where - Oh!”_

 

_Nan has appeared right beside Beatrice holding a box of jewellery._

 

_“Perfect!” cries Bea, leading Nan by the hand back into the sitting room._

 

_The human eagerly rabbits through the box, taking out fistfuls of diamonds._

 

_“Nan, you really ought to sort all of  this out,” she nags with a frustrated tut. “I should think some of the bits in here are rather valuable!”_

 

_Nan smirks._

 

_“Yes, rather,” she says arrogantly, taking another drag. “I like_ **_real_ ** _diamond. As a vampire you can always tell. None of that cut-glass shit.”_

 

_“Nan!” cries Bea with a look of amused incredulousness. “How many_ **_times?_ ** _You oughtn't to swear! It’s not ladylike at all! My poor ears!”_

 

_Nan leans in close to whisper in Bea’s warm little ear._

 

_“Miss Beatrice…I will fucking swear…as fucking often…as I damn well please, thank you very much.”_

 

_“Miss Flanagan how rude!” laughs Beatrice._

 

_“I’m not rude! I said please and thank you,” counters Nan, searching for wherever the hell Beatrice had moved her ashtray._

 

_Bea rolls her eyes and produces the glass dish._

 

_“So childish!” she human sighs in mock sadness. “What_ **_am_ ** _I to do with you?”_

 

_“_ **_Bejewel_ ** _me, Bea,” Nan says, holding out a slender wrist with mock impatience._

 

_However, Beatrice’s choice of decoration is a string of Atlantic pearls that she reverently attaches around Nan’s neck._

 

_The dressmaker sighs._

 

_“I could never look like that,” she decides, casing big eyes over her finished masterpiece. “Never as glamorous, never as…regal. And_ **_how_ ** _you managed to grow so dreadfully tall…”_

 

_Beatrice trails off, playing with a layer of Nan’s skirt._

 

_“I think you’re actually better looking then me Bea,” Nan says kindly, and honestly. “…Perhaps,”_

 

_Nan tickles the human’s nose with the end of a spare piece of fabric._

 

_“…A bit of an Enid Bennett, I should say.”_

 

_Bea gasps with her hands over her mouth and gives an excited squeal._

 

_“No, Nan I could never be_ **_Enid!_ ** _” she laughs, eyes as big as some of of the diamonds._

 

_Nan laughs too, as giddy as a two-hundred year-old again._

 

_“Bea, you can be anything you want,” the vampire says earnestly._

 

_She looks down again at the dress she’s wearing._

 

_“You’re very talented, you know.”_

 

_“You really think so?” Bea asks, it really is hard to tell with Nan._

 

_“I_ **_know_ ** _so,” Nan declares, gesturing to herself. “Is this not proof? I don’t let myself be dressed in any old shit.”_

 

_Bea’s dimples burst into her cheeks, the human choosing to ignore Nan’s linguistic faux pas this time._

 

_“Nan, you really are the most wonderful friend,” she says, clasping the other woman’s cold hand dearly._

 

_“And perhaps I can dress_ **_you_ ** _up next time?” Nan then suggests, eyes twinkling with a predator’s greed for a flicker of a moment. “What do you say?”_

 

_She blows out a plume of smoke._

 

_“Indulge me?”_

 

_“Um…If you want to” stumbles Beatrice, surprised. “…I mean…I’m not exactly…”_

 

_“Without a_ **_doubt_ ** _, Beatrice,” reassures Nan, a little fascinated by how someone so exquisite can have such a low opinion of themselves._

 

_“Um, good, well, we’ll see,” says a rather flustered human, glancing awkwardly around the room, unsure of quite what to do with her compliment._

 

_“But look at the time!” she says, catching sight of Nan’s grandfather clock. “I…must be going. Charles will be home soon!”_

 

_“And there’s the C-word,” mutters Nan with bitter sarcasm, hating the bastard._

 

_She stubs her cigarette out with venom and the spell is broken._

 

_Sensing this, Beatrice scrambles to put her things back into the box so Nan can walk her home._

 

_“And remember,” Bea says as she fiddles with the clasp on her sewing box. “On Monday evening you_ **_must_ ** _come to the meeting and then you’re coming back to see my house and to read my speech while Charles it at his mother’s.”_

 

_“Good_ **_God_ ** _, Beatrice!”_

 

_Nan laughs, brightening._

 

_“I find it very difficult to forget things I’ve been told_ **_nine times!_ ** _” she laughs, taking Bea’s face between her palms for a moment. “_ **_Yes_ ** _I will be there!”_

 

_“Good!”_

 

_Beatrice gives Nan a hug, one of the really snuggly ones that Nan loves and the vampire can’t help holding a little tighter than is polite. But not too tight because…_

 

_“Bea…” Nan says seriously, thinking of the baby the human hasn’t yet realised she’s carrying. “Don’t let him touch you if you don’t want it, alright.”_

 

_“Nan!” argues Beatrice, grinning. “Don’t I always-”_

 

_“Bea, really, jokes aside,” Nan pleads. “You_ **_are_ ** _rather an Enid Bennett. I would hate to think of you being…”_

 

_Nan takes a deep breath._

 

_“…Used.”_

 

_“Nan,” says Beatrice kindly, wanting to reassure her vampire. “Not all men just want…that.”_

 

_“A lot of them do, Bea…” Nan replies darkly. “…A lot of them do._

 

 

 

Nan’s eyes opened in the darkness. And the very first thing in her mind was that _fucking_ photograph.

 

Cullen had just got an awful lot deader.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kay guys.
> 
> For those who aren’t familiar with True Blood, ‘The Authority’ is the vampire government (which has a very high opinion of itself) and the characters I mention are the other Chancellors, equal in power to Nan.
> 
> Roman Zimojic is the leader so what he says goes, as far as rulings are concerned.
> 
> Also, in True Blood, in the opposite way to Twilight, vampires get stronger and faster as they get older, so that’s why it matters how old Nan and Salome are (Salome would win, no contest).
> 
> Another thing, Roman Zimojic is from Croatia originally, I believe, so in my mind, he could feasibly be ex-Volturi (that being Twilight’s ‘Authority’ - damn this is getting confusing!) in a kind of Mediterranean way, which is how he would know Carlisle.
> 
> Hope this chapter makes some sense!

**Seattle, February 1922**

 

Brice and Peters entered the smokey building with their heads down, grunting the hard-won password to the bouncer outside.

 

Of course, their discretion wasn’t too unusual, seeing as Speakeasies were illegal institutions.

 

They sidled up to the bar.

 

“Two whiskeys, if you please,” Brice said gruffly to the bartender, who gave him a considering look and then put down the glass he was cleaning.

 

“Hey, have I seen you somewhere before…” he asked conversationally before a look of horror crossed his face. “You’re that copper, aren’t you?”

 

“Damn,” muttered Brice, cursing the media.

 

Brice grabbed hold of the man’s tie and leaned in to hiss in his ear.

 

“And make one sound about it and you’ll spend the rest of your days behind bars.”

 

“We’re not here to arrest anybody,” Peters said calmly, a little less direct in manner than his co-worker. “We’re here to ask some questions. About Mr Charles Platt.”

 

The bartender looked around.

 

“Platt, you say? Your dead fella?”

 

Peters gave a small laugh.

 

“Yes, ‘our dead fella’. We’re wondering what you knew about him when he wasn’t.”

 

The bartender’s eyes flitted nervously around, but he knew not to push his luck.

 

“Alright then,” he conceded gruffly. “But in the back.”

 

Peters held his hand on his revolver as the man led them into the back room.

 

“But if _I_ talk, you _don’t,”_ he continued as they arrived in the back room, lined with stacks upon stacks of liquor bottles.

 

“You have our word,” said Peters with a smile.

 

 

**New York, September 1921**   
****

 

 

**Headquarters of the Vampire Authority**

 

 

“So you claim…” began Roman Zimojic, Guardian of the Authority. “That Dr Carlisle Cullen has somehow… _stolen_ your human.”

“Yes,” said Nan flatly.

“…By feeding her his blood?” he confirmed.

“Yes!”

 

Roman sighed as he examined the photograph of his friend and the pretty young woman Nan had thrown at him in a fury as she stormed into the room.

 

“You know Nan, this…'Beatrice' sounds quite a lot like _Cullen’s_ human,” he said experimentally.

 

“But she isn’t,” snarled Nan. “Now, Cullen has broken one of the most fundamental of our laws and as a result he faces the true death penalty. Write me a warrant.”

 

Roman sighed.

 

“Nan, I’m afraid you don’t have enough proof.”

 

“Proof? _Proof?_ I am a Chancellor of the Authority, I swore honesty to Lilith!” spluttered Nan 

indignantly, though she didn’t hold the vampire goddess in very high regard at all.

 

“Shouldn’t my word be enough?” she continued.

 

Roman looked apologetic.

 

“Right then,” said Nan happily. “No problem, I’ll just do it myself. I’d prefer it that way anyway. More personal.”

 

“Nan,” said Roman warningly. “If you kill _another_ vampire without a warrant, I will turn you over to the Magister.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s right,” she said sarcastically. “I forgot. _I_ have to obey our laws. Meanwhile _Cullen-”_

“Nan, don’t!” said Roman warningly. “I’m sure there’s just been some kind of misunderst-”

“You _know,”_ cried Nan passionately. “You _know_ I’m telling the truth. Look in my eyes!”

 

Roman didn’t. He _hated_ looking Nan in the eye. It was like drowning a frozen lake. But he did know she wasn’t lying. The past few months had brought a very much more… _chirpy_ Ms Flanagan to the Authority meetings.

 

“No, you are _lying,_ I know it,” lied Roman.

 

“You _fucker!”_ screamed Nan, smacking the table as Dieter Braun, who had unfortunately chosen to sit next to her, massaged his throbbing temples.

 

“Nan, enough,” said Roman with practiced calm. “I am your Guardian.”

 

“Alright,” said Nan with a manic smirk, still breathing heavily. “Well, why don’t you _stop_ me with your _three hundred_ years.”

 

Salome Agrippa dragged her gaze gracefully away from Roman’s….lets call it his _lap._

 

“Because if you ever harm him I shall use my two thousand years to deliver you the true death,” she said softly.

 

“That’s one thousand, eight hundred and ninety seven, thank you,” said Nan snappily, though reminded that Roman’s death may not be a very…teleological justice.

 

“Hey,” snorted Roslyn, seizing her chance to torment the unusually vulnerable Flanagan. “Perhaps Nora could make you some posters. ‘Have you seen my human. Last seen with a handsome doctor’.”

 

“That’s not funny!” hissed Nan savagely. 

 

Roman said nothing to reprimand Roslyn.

 

“Oh!” said Nan with mock gentility. “I see. So _Ros_ can say that to me but _I’m_ not allowed to tell _Alexander_ that his human parents cracked open a case of champagne the night he went missing.”

 

Kibwe Akinjide dissolved into a hacking coughing fit.

 

“Maybe that’s why you don’t want a Suffragist around,” continued Nan, barrelling forwards. “Maybe we would start seeing some equality around here!”

 

“Oh give it a rest!” said Kibwe, slightly breathlessly. “The damn women’s rights again?”

 

“Kibwe,” scolded Nora. “That is a very mean thing to say.”

 

She turned to Nan. 

 

“Nan,” she said kindly. “I think it’s a lovely idea.”

 

Nan inclined her head sarcastically.

 

_Lovely, just … lovely._

 

“Thank you Nora,” said Nan sweetly. “You know how I always value your input.”

 

Roman looked slightly distant. He wasn’t having a good night. In one ear was a frantic Carlisle Cullen, his old friend, and in his other the rather angry voice of Nan Flanagan who looked extremely unamused.

 

He’d told Carlisle just to give the human up to Flanagan. It would be so much _easier_. But he knew Carlisle. And he knew he’d never do it. 

 

Carlisle wouldn’t ever be safe again. And he was one of Roman’s closest friends…He’d have to do something…

 

“Alright,” he held up his hand and called upon his leading position, praying for silence.

 

All the other vampires’ eyes flitted to him.

 

“In the interest of keeping the peace,” he began calmly. “I have decided that Carlisle Cullen’s relationship with this human may continue, on the condition that she understands the secrecy that we need to uphold, which I’m sure Cullen has explained to her.”

 

 _“I_ explained to her,” muttered Nan.

 

Roman held up a hand to silence her which didn’t go down well.

 

“Just because you were Volturi buddies back in the day,” Nan spat. “Doesn’t mean that-”

 

“I am not proud of, nor have I ever denied my involvement with the Volturi,” Roman said loudly. “But that is the past and is irrelevant to this conversation.”

 

“Irrelevant?” laughed Nan with breathless disbelief. “You are being too lenient with him. I WANT CULLEN DEAD!”

 

“Damn it!” cried Roman, reaching the end of his tether. “Angela Flanagan, as Guardian of this Authority, I call on the sacredness of Lilith’s blood to forbid you to kill…or _injure_ Carlisle Cullen for as long as I live.”

 

“Is that your official word?” snapped Nan.

 

“Yes,” said Roman flatly as to his surprise, Nan smiled.

 

“Oh course,” she said amicably. “Carlisle Cullen shall not be harmed if you do not wish it… _Guardian.”_

 

Nan bowed as she got out of her chair.

 

Roman was a little concerned as she left the room without invitation…still smiling. She had a _look_ in her eye though he was pretty sure his statement had covered all the bases…

 

But it hadn’t.

 

 _Right,_ thought Nan serenely. _The progeny it is._

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Just some explanations for those who are only familiar with one of these fandoms…
> 
> In True Blood, each state in the US is run by a king or queen and I’ve decided that Tanya (who is an animal-blood drinking vampire in Twilight, friend of the Cullen family) is queen of Alaska.
> 
> This gives her considerable influence over other vampires, but not Nan, who ranks higher being in the Authority (like the Federal vs State government). However, Tanya and co. are meant to be nearly 1000 years old, (I think), in Twilight so age-wise, with all of them protecting Carlisle (weaker at around 200-ish years old), Edward and Esme, Nan won’t be able to defeat them.
> 
> Physically, at least.

 

**Seattle, February 1922**

 

Detective Brice arrived back at his office, reeling from his visit to the Speakeasy, despite being stone-cold sober.

 

So the wife had been missing for six months prior to Platt’s death?

 

It seemed unlikely, the man had not reported it and, apparently, had not told any of his associates. 

 

Then again, the man at the bar, and a few others they had spoken to, had been convinced of it, having been on the receiving end of a fair few of Platt’s alleged drinking rants about Beatrice, the wife, with some…doctor?

 

A doctor. Brice would have to make enquiries.

 

However, to his annoyance, one of his juniors interrupted his thoughts. The doctor would have to wait.

 

“Sir,” Johnson said. “There’s a woman here to see you. Says it’s important.”

 

 

 

 

**Seattle, September 1921**

 

 

Esme woke to darkness. With company.

 

She gasped reflexively as she felt arms around her.

 

“It’s alright, it’s just me,” came Carlisle’s calming voice from somewhere in her hair.

 

Esme relaxed, remembering how she had fallen asleep cuddled up to her vampire after he had all but carried her home from the movie theatre.

 

She couldn’t help but blush, which Carlisle noticed.

 

He chuckled.

 

“That’s something I don’t miss about humanity,” he laughed softly, reaching to brush her cheek. “But it is very beautiful.”

 

“Oh _charmer,”_ Esme whispered as she blushed harder.

 

A few minutes passed in thoughtful silence before the doctor extracted himself from Esme’s curls to speak.

 

“I’ve decided to take you on an adventure,” he announced suddenly.

 

“An adventure?” asked Esme interestedly, wriggling around to face him.

 

“Yes, to Alaska,” Carlisle continued, thanking the stars for their convenient escape plan now that Flanagan must be close. “We just got a letter from our friend, Tanya, who has invited us to come and stay with her and her family, if we leave tomorrow at nightfall we could make the ferry and sail there. It would be a long trip but-”

 

“And they invited _me?”_ asked Esme, surprised.

 

“Yes,” Carlisle told her. “They want to meet you,”

 

Esme was very flattered.

 

“What about the clinic?” she wondered out loud, worrying about all those poor humans that Carlisle wouldn’t be there to help.

 

“It’s all organised,” Carlisle whispered. “Another doctor will take over in my absence. Don’t worry.”

 

“And…how long would we be away?”

 

“Er…potentially quite a while…It depends on how long it takes us to find you some bear cubs to paint,” Carlisle told her, jiggling her playfully in his (disappointingly) _clothed_ arms.

 

Esme gasped with excitement and gave Carlisle a very squeezy hug.

 

“You _would_ like to go, wouldn’t you?” he asked nervously, as if her reaction hadn’t been sufficient to dispel his fears. “I understand you might not want to stay with all those vampires.”

 

“Of course I would like to go and meet your vampire friends!” Esme cried, too excited by the prospect of a holiday with wonderful _Carlisle_ to think for a second that the whole thing sounded very strange, and Alaska in winter rather chilly.

 

And so, with the quick buying of some very warm clothes and plenty of food for Esme, a new chapter of her life began. One filled with an awful lot of sea sickness as they sailed up the coast, although it was most completely worth it, Esme would say later to Carlisle’s friends who met them at the port, because they saw an actual _whale_ _pod!_ Can you believe it?

 

The first of the new vampires to introduce herself was Kate who Esme thought a little jealously had the most lovely straight white-blonde hair almost to her waist. 

 

Next was Tanya, the beautiful strawberry blonde who Edward had explained was a queen but chuckled when Esme gave her a curtsey.

 

Then was Irina who seemed rather disinterested with the whole thing but did have a lovely pair of shoes on.

 

The hispanic couple, Carmen and Eleazar, came as something as a shock to Esme, the both of them being vampires, rather than a vampire with a human as she had grown used to. As she greeted them warmly, her mind began to whirr with possibilities. Nan had mentioned that a progeny could be a vampire’s partner too, hadn’t she?

 

Esme felt suddenly a little strange as she half-remembered that Nan had offered to change _her._ Which would have made Esme…what, exactly?

 

Before she could become too agitated, Carlisle had taken her arm and helped her into a very nice motor car which was going to take them to Queen Tanya’s palace.

 

A palace! Can you _imagine?_

 

When they arrived, Esme was a little disappointed by the lack of turrets and ballrooms but the home was grand enough and she wandered happily around for days exploring, having always fostered a love of interior design. 

 

Most of the things in the house were exceeding old, Esme thought, which fuelled her curiosity even more about the vampires that had made it their home.

 

“Is it rude to ask how old you are?” Esme asked Kate one night as the vampire was brushing her long caramel hair.

 

The vampire chuckled.

 

“No,” she replied with her usual humour. “And I’m eight hundred years old, give or take.”

 

Esme gasped.

 

 _“Eight_ hundred?” she asked, flabbergasted. “Even older than Nan Flanagan?”

 

“Yes,” Kate said, amused. “All of us are,”

 

Esme mulled this over.

 

“So you’re stronger than she is?”

 

“Physically, yes, though strange accidents seem to befall those who upset Ms Flanagan,” Kate said, sounding strangely as if she didn’t like Nan for some reason. “A side-effect of being an Authority member.”

 

“Hmm,” agreed Esme. “Yes, she _is_ terribly good at killing things…”

 

However, the sudden realisation that her vam-, that _Nan Flanagan_ wasn’t the oldest and strongest vampire was strangely worrying to Esme and she found herself pacing her room hoping that Nan was alright and hadn’t been hurt.

 

After she had eaten and Carlisle had returned, beautifully ruffled from his hunt, Esme almost asked the doctor if there was a way to find out, but seeing his beautiful face as they settled by the fire to read, she neglected to, thinking that there was something more important to discuss.

 

“How are you liking Alaska?” he said after a long time of just looking at her.

 

“Oh it’s beautiful!” Esme replied in dimpled splendour.

 

“Good…good,” he said absently, fidgeting.

 

He noticed Esme looking very thoughtful.

 

“What is it, my love?”

 

Esme looked into the flames.

 

“You do…love me, don’t you?” she asked cautiously.

 

Carlisle laughed incredulously. 

 

“Esme, I love you more than _anything,”_ he told her, and meant it.

 

Esme was quite for a moment, then…

 

“Do you love me because I’m human?”

 

Carlisle’s surprise was evident in his voice.

 

“I love you for who you are, Esme,” he said. “Not for your humanity.”

 

Silence.

 

Esme put away the book she was reading.

 

“Then will you turn me?” the human stammered.

 

Carlisle stood up suddenly.

 

“Carlisle, my love,” she said, urgent, standing up herself to catch his cold cheek in her warm palm. “What’s the matter? What did I say wrong?”

 

“Esme,” he breathed. “Esme…I…I couldn’t!”

 

“You…can’t?” said Esme, frowning in confusion and disappointment. “But what about Edward! You managed it then!”

 

“No, you don’t understand!” Carlisle cried. “I physically could but Esme…you have your whole life ahead of you…”

 

He implored that she see reason, that he couldn’t damn her like that.

 

“You have _many_ lives ahead of you,” Esme countered, more passionately now. “And I…”

 

She looked at her vampire.

 

“I want to see them all with you.”

 

The doctor was stunned by this proclamation.

 

“I…” Carlisle began, then stopped talking and instead took both Esme’s hands in his.

 

He looked deep into her beautiful eyes and saw nothing but love. She meant what she said. She really, really did!

 

Feeling as if he wasn’t quite in control of his own body, Carlisle kneeled down on the floor in front of the human, looking up at her as if she were a goddess.

 

“I…I _am_ willing to turn you,” he said in a nervous rush, anxious to never ever see disappointment on her face again, even if it disrupted his moral principles.

 

He took a deep, steeling breath.

 

“And…”

 

There was a very promising glint of diamond as he, rather shakily, produced a ring from his pocket, a ring he had been carrying with him ever since that night at the movies.

 

“…I would very much like to do so as your husband,” he said with Godly seriousness as be bared his entire being to another. “If you would do me the honour of marrying me.”

 

Esme’s tiny hands went to her mouth as she gasped.

 

“Carlisle…” she breathed, eyes enormous. “I… _Yes!”_

 

She threw herself into his arms.

 

“Er…yes to the marriage,” he asked nervously. “Or…?”

 

“Yes to both!” she cried, squeezing him tight.

 

“Then I’ll need that finger,” said Carlisle, sounding calm despite being practically numb with shock over the things he had just agreed to do.

 

Esme offered the hand that had once been weighed down by another ring which was now sitting on the bottom of the ocean along the west coast of Canada.

 

Carlisle slid it into place and gazed into the eyes of his one and only love.

 

“I love you,” he choked as the bloody tears he had been holding back started to fall.

 

“I love you too,” Esme replied, catching one of his tears on her finger and sucking it clean.

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Seattle, February 1922**

 

“A…Mrs Flanagan to see you, sir,” one of the junior officers said to Brice with his head around the door.

 

The detective sighed.

 

He was in the middle of a brutal and well-publicised murder enquiry and frankly did not have the time or the patience for the private detective work he did on the side of that for the police force. Saying that, it certainly did pay well, and, more to the point, he enjoyed it.

 

“Alright, send her in,” Brice said to the man who nodded obediently.

 

Brice sighed back in his chair wondering what mysteries this ‘Mrs Flanagan’ might bring.

 

He liked to use his powers of deduction to guess what the case was just by the person’s appearance, and he was usually correct, so when the unquestionably beautiful and well-dressed Mrs Flanagan swept into his office, he scrutinised her.

 

_Tall, blonde, short hair (so obviously more confidence than most), icy stare, hard to tell how old she is…maybe something to hide. Born British, difficult early life…_

 

He eyed the pearls around her neck.

 

_...But since very much made up for it._

 

Brice considered his visitor. His verdict: missing diamonds.

 

 _Either her boyfriend’s made off with the diamonds her husband gave her, and now he’s smelt a rat or she thinks the husband’s being unfaithful and has given the diamonds to his new girl,_ he decided.

 

“Good evening, Detective,” she said levelly and without the timidness that would normally be expected from a woman without an escort. “Thank you for agreeing to see me.”

 

He nodded.

 

“Please, have a seat,” he invited, sensing this might be a rather blunt conversation.

 

“Thank you,” she said, perching herself delicately across from the man.

 

“So, what can I help you with, madam?” he asked courteously.

 

“It’s about my husband,” she began.

 

Brice had to hide a satisfied smirk. He had been right all along.

 

However, the next words out of her mouth dispelled that small satisfaction completely.

 

“He was a policeman in New York city,” the woman said plainly. “And one year ago he was murdered.”

 

“On the job?” Brice asked.

 

“No,” Mrs Flanagan continued, in a tone Brice found a little uncomfortable. “He was stabbed in the back by someone he was collecting information about. A Dr _Carlisle Cullen.”_

 

Mrs Flanagan’s manicured nails slid a photograph of a very handsome blonde man across the desk and proceeded to tap the face venomously.

 

“Oh, this isn’t a new case for you, detective,” Nan said, seeing Brice’s expression. “I have information for you.”

 

She took a measured breath.

 

“See, my poor late husband believed that Cullen, and his son, Edward, were conducting illegal medical experiments on women and unborn babies,” she said, while Brice’s eyebrows flew upwards. “There have been kidnappings across New York of pregnant women and new mothers with their babies.”

 

“So what…?”

 

“Cullen’s last known whereabouts were in Seattle,” Flanagan smiled stiffly.

 

She eyed him.

 

“Perhaps this has relevance to a case you’re currently working on?” she asked meaningfully.

 

Brice took in a sharp breath.

 

 

**Somewhere in the middle of Alaskan-fucking-nowhere, October 1921**

 

It was a long trip to Alaska, Nan discovered. Long. And then another long time once she reached the God-forsaken place to find where the doctor had taken her Beatrice.

 

Furthermore, the vampire had been so set upon rescuing her Beatrice that she hadn’t considered the stretch of Canada that was in the way when she had taken off into the night sky. She was soon rather disenchanted with the place.

 

Upon reaching her snowy destination, Nan quickly decided that the entire state was a shit-hole, having little appreciation for natural beauty, and would have been happy to have the whole place burnt to the ground had she not been the smug owner of a fair few oil shares. There were altogether few humans, though there were plenty of animals, so perhaps it was a fun place for Cullen to spend time, seeing as he was…that way inclined.

 

Nan’s stomach rolled.

 

Feeding on the blood of animals was not a common practice for a vampire.

 

In the way, Nan thought acidly, that _bestiality_ was not all that common among humans.

 

Her stomach churned again as she gave thought to what Cullen might do to the animals as he fed from them, which did nothing to aid the sickness she always felt while in the air.

 

Nan had always hated flying, and wasn’t actually very good at it, especially in winter where one could get lost in storm clouds and such, which wasn't fun, greatly prolonged the experience and did no favours to either one’s clothes or one’s hair.

 

However, Nan’s own discomfort didn’t matter, and, yes, you did hear that correctly.

 

In Beatrice’s long and painful absence, Nan had realised that there was a person in the world she cared about more than herself, which shocked, disgusted and thrilled her in equal measures.

 

And now she was going to find Beatrice, _finally_ feed Beatrice her blood, and tell her perfect little human just that.

 

_After I’ve wiped Cullen junior from the face of the Earth…_

 

Nan had not forgotten Roman Zimojic’s words, or the price of her disobedience, but she was determined to cause Cullen senior as much pain as possible and became increasingly so as she flew further and further north into the harsh arctic winter.

 

The winter did, however, provide one profound advantage which was the extended darkness.

 

During the short winter daytime, Nan had to find somewhere (usually not somewhere particularly glamorous) to sleep. She also searched for some kind of meal, which so far had consisted only of two very fat whalers which was _not_ Nan’s usual choice.

 

 _I survived an Irish famine,_ she told herself slightly hysterically as she dumped the bodies. _I can survive a few nights without any decent blood, can’t I? For Bea?_

 

Sufficient to say, Nan was in a foul mood as she descended upon Anchorage and then veered off towards the Denali mountain where friends of Cullen had a property and where, being rather simple, he was sure to have ‘hidden’.

 

She rolled her eyes.

 

_Amateurs._

 

She circled the mountain range until she saw a light nested away - the palace of the Queen of Alaska.

 

Her flight path lowered and as such she and caught the unmistakable whiff of rich vampire…and some kind of human food heating on a stove, which could only mean one thing.

 

Beatrice was here!

 

Noiselessly, Nan landed on one side of the enormous house, and peered through window after window trying to spot Beatrice without letting any of the three older vampires in the nest know she was there.

 

Before the vampire could mutter a word her human would have taken great exception to, Nan heard a darling little giggle, as familiar to her as though it had been minutes rather than months since she had heard it last.

 

Beatrice.

 

Creeping closer, Nan peered through the window.

 

Her human was being held captive between Dr Cullen and some other little shit, which must be his pathetic excuse for a progeny. And she was smiling.

 

_Smiling._

 

The sight of it was like a stake in the gut.

 

Nan felt as if her very blood were angry as she watched the disgusting, but rather undeniably wholesome scene play out in front of her.

 

“Stop, that’s cheating!” cried Nan’s precious Beatrice, delightfully engrossed in a game of cards in the cosy sitting room with the two traitors. _“I_ have Mrs Pill and Edward _you_ have Master Pill…which I _know_ that you have, because Carlisle doesn’t. You have to give me that card! It’s the rules!”

 

Nan realised what they were playing. A kind of strangled gasp escaped her into the frosty night air.

 

_H-happy Families?_

 

“Edward,” Beautiful Bea continued, blissfully unaware of the effect of her words. “Mrs Pill and Mr Pill and Master Pill have to go together, otherwise it’s not a Happy Family.”

 

“Carlisle has Mr Pill!” spluttered Edward with playful indignation.

 

The doctor shook his head with a smirk.

 

“I _am_ Mr Pill, thank you very much, son,” he said.

 

Now, there must be something to be said about palpable anger, because that’s what emanated from the garden, and that’s what Carlisle managed to detect over the heads of the human and the younger vampire

 

He felt his stomach plummet.

 

It was time.

 

“Carlisle, what’s going on?”

 

Carlisle silenced his progeny with a look, a terrified one.

 

“Edward, Esme, you stay here. I have to check on something,” he said fugitively. “Don’t come outside.”

 

As if dreaming, Carlisle walked to the nearest door and walked into the snowy garden.

 

“Ms Flanagan?” he began, the tremor in his voice not hard to discern. “Ms…Nan?”

 

There was nothing but a crisp silence.

 

“Please…”

 

A terror such as he had never known engulfed the doctor.

 

“Nan, please take me instead,” he said in a rush. “Leave Edward be, he has had no part in this I… I’m sorry. I’m sorry about Es- _Beatrice._ She was hurt! I had no choice!”

 

She silence pressed the doctor to speak.

 

“I know you must be upset, but she’s settled here and…”

 

He turned to face the window where the two onlookers stared outside, with only Edward able to hear what was going on.

 

Nan turned in her hiding place to face Beatrice who was staring at the doctor with an intense worry that scorched Nan like silver.

 

Metallic also was the glint on Beatrice’s ring finger on the hand the held Edward protectively close.

 

Nan’s blood boiled.

 

“Ms Flanagan?” Carlisle choked again.

 

Silence.

 

 _Kill him,_ hissed the voice in Nan’s mind she usually listened to. _Kill them both. Slowly._

 

She turned to Edward, who looked alarmed and was trying to fend off Beatrice’s frantic questions about what was happening, which was quite an achievement.

 

And then the human was gone.

 

“Esme! No! Come back!” shouted Cullen’s progeny, but Nan knew it was fruitless.

 

Beatrice would not be stopped.

 

The door opened and the human stormed outside.

 

“Carlisle! What’s going on?” she demanded.

 

 _It’s Bea! It’s really, really her!_ thought Nan breathlessly.

 

“Esme! Get inside!” shouted the doctor, moving to restrain the woman before she could venture any further.

 

“Whoever you are, go away!” the human yelled, fearsome indeed. “This is my _family!_ You hear? And we’re vampires.”

 

“Beatrice,” Nan whispered.

 

“And so you really ought to _leave us be!”_

 

“Bea,” Nan breathed, even quieter.

 

“Come on firecracker,” Edward said, scooping Esme backwards. “That’s enough.”

 

Willingly, the human allowed Edward to gently lead her back inside, and the love and protectiveness on her face for both the doctor and his progeny was plain to see.

 

Bea was happy. 

 

Bea was happy, and to kill either of her captives would make her _un_ happy, which was something that Nan simply could not do.

 

Trembling, Nan sank further into the darkness, unable to quite accept what was about to happen.

 

She would let Beatrice go.

 

The stab of loss was so great that Nan started to cry, a strange, alien and unfamiliar prickling sensation that hadn’t stricken her for over two centuries. Nan drew her fingers, bloody, from her face and looked at them in surprise and then shrank back further.

 

Even while lost in a sea of grief and rage, Nan was far to proud to risk Carlisle seeing the tears staining her ancient face.

 

When no attack came after another ten minutes of tense silence, Carlisle went back to his game of cards, deciding that a vampire’s presence in the garden must have been his imagination. 

 

Nan watched, frozen to the spot, as the love of her long and bloody life wrapped her soft arms around the doctor and scold him for making her so worried while his needy progeny watched greedily, feeling his maker completely emotionally fulfilled.

 

And as they continued to play cards for many hours, Dr Cullen’s frantic glances outside became less frequent and eventually ceased completely. 

 

Nan was forgotten, merely an abandoned dead thing upon which the first, tentative snowflakes of the night had dared to land.

 

The onslaught of vampiric grief was a vary painful thing and it was only the ancient vampire’s unerring need for revenge that prompted her to move as the sun started to kiss the horizon. 

 

Since it snowed for all the next day, Carlisle never found the neatly placed heeled footprints in the snow which may have prompted a prickle of sympathy for what the woman must have seen.

 

 _She’s gone,_ thought Nan numb with shock as she flew blindly southwards again. _I’ve lost her. She’s…gone…_

 

 _Somebody_ was going to pay.


	11. Chapter 11

**Seattle, February 1922**

 

Detective Brice and Detective Peters listened intently as Nan described again, for Peters’ benefit, her ‘husband’s’ suspicions about this Dr Cullen fellow, followed by his murder.

 

Peters, the more level-headed of the pair, mulled the story over.

 

“So…this doctor…he, forgive me, shot your husband personally?”

 

“I believe so,” poor widowed Mrs Flanagan answered bravely. “But…you don’t?”

 

“Not to offend, but it just seems a little far-fetched,” he admitted.

 

Mrs Flanagan locked eyes with the detective.

 

“It doesn’t sound far-fetched at all,” she said mesmerically.

 

“No, you’re right,” he suddenly decided, now extremely angry on the delightful Mrs Flanagan’s behalf. “God, a _baby snatcher…”_

 

 

**Alaska, November 1921**

 

 

A Christmas wedding. Esme could hardly fathom the romance of it.

 

On December 23rd, she would become Mrs Cullen, Carlisle’s wife.

 

And progeny.

 

Though Tanya was often rather busy, Esme’s _dear_ new friends Carmen, Kate and Irina were helping her make a beautiful wedding dress. 

 

Esme was often breathless with excitement, but sometimes with nerves, and not just for the wedding - she could sense a perpetual cloud of anxiety in the house. However, when she had quietly mentioned this to Carlisle, he had denied that anything was wrong and told her not to worry, and perhaps she would like his mother’s necklace to wear with her wedding dress?

 

Of course, that was normally enough to put Esme off the scent of anything amiss, and when Carlisle had been very thoroughly kissed, Esme would go happily back to her lacy creation.

 

She had been deep in conversation with the other women, who had gladly agreed to be her bridesmaids, for many hours and they had decided how they would decorate the house when the big night finally came, when the guest list was first mentioned and Esme realised, (and how remiss of her), that perhaps the should start inviting some _guests_.

 

When she had spoken to Carlisle about this, he had seemed wary, wanting a ‘private affair’, but with prodding from Edward and Kate, he had grudgingly produced a list of names and addresses for Esme to write to.

 

With a rush of sadness, when Esme had finished writing all Carlisle’s invitations, she realised that she didn’t really have anyone to invite _herself_ \- no family, no friends… 

 

Esme had a vision of a dazzling red smile and a pair of glittering blue-grey eyes.

 

No friends, bar one.

 

She settled down by the fire to write.

 

 

 _Dear Nan,_ she began.

 

What on earth could be said?

 

_I suppose life must be difficult in the summer months for vampires and that you've been very busy._

 

_I have been busy too, as you can see my address is now in Alaska. Alaska, can you imagine? It’s all dreadfully exciting!_

 

_However, as you suggested, I’ve left Charles, and now live with Carlisle Cullen who is a doctor, of all things! I confess that I quickly I fell quite in love with him - another vampire, can you believe the coincidence?_

 

_We are being married soon - on the 23rd of December and I would love it if you and your-_

 

Esme’s pen hovered shakily over the paper for a moment.

 

_-Current human would come, only if you have the time of course, I would imagine that the holiday season is quite hectic as far as assassination goes!_

 

_You needn’t get us a gift, your presence alone would be enough. And who knows, perhaps after Carlisle turns me we could meet up as friends?_

 

_I don’t suppose you’ve had the time to keep up the Suffrage group - I sometimes feel quite ill thinking about what a state of disrepair the society must have fallen into with my sudden absence! I am quite terrible sometimes!_

 

_If you could spare a moment, I would be greatly touched if you could write me a reply, only a short one for old times’ sake. I understand that it was far too difficult for us to be friends with our living so far away from each other but I have missed you terribly, and I will always regret that I left so suddenly and rudely._

 

_I’ll be thinking of you!_

 

_All my best,_

 

_Beatrice Esme Platt (soon to be Cullen!)_

 

 

_PS I recently saw a Mary Pickford movie and found myself thinking that you are at least_ _twice_ _as beautiful as she could ever be!_

 

 

Esme crumpled up her letter and threw it in the fire.

 

Mrs Cullen didn’t watch Mary Pickford movies.

 

And she certainly didn’t cry and cry because a _woman_ had broken her heart.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Nearly at the end now!
> 
> Thank you for sticking with this and I hope you continue to enjoy this to completion!
> 
> Time for a wedding...

 

**Seattle, March 1922**

 

The warrant for Carlisle and Edward Cullen’s arrest went out far and wide.

 

Beatrice Platt was a missing person.

 

And Detectives Brice and Peters were very, very busy men.

 

“I’ll be sure to spread the word in New York,” Nan told them with surprising fondness. “The girls and I haven’t taken this lightly, you can be assured.”

 

And was with a parting handshake that Nan returned to New York, reflecting on what the past few months had taught her.

 

One: never fall in love.

 

Two: the media can be a cruel beast and an extremely useful tool.

 

And Three: whatever the other vampires might say, a few select human conspirators never go amiss.

 

Nan grinned as she entered the new meeting room of the Suffrage group she had managed to inherit after poor Bea's downfall.

 

Don’t go amiss at all…

 

“Evening, ladies,” Nan said as she settled herself comfortably at the head of the table which had the slogan “Deeds Not Words” inlaid into the expensive wood.

 

She smiled charmingly as a squadron of heads turned their rapt attention to her, notepads were flipped open and pen lids removed.

 

“I hope you’re all well,” she began.

 

The heads nodded eagerly.

 

“Excellent.”

 

Nan peered needlessly at the agenda sheet in front of her.

 

“So now we’ve all had time for a think,” she began, addressing the group which had been fed _somewhat_ the true story about where Nan’s beloved predecessor had gone. “What are we doing about our Mr Platt?”

 

 

**Alaska, December 1921**

 

Snow was falling thickly outside the windows as the evening drew in. 

 

And Carlisle was awake to watch it, having woken from death early - mid-afternoon, in fact, with too much expectation for his up-coming marriage to wait.

 

Christmas truly had come early this year, well, two days early.

 

There was an unnecessary knock on the door as the hour of the ceremony grew closer - Carlisle could sense his progeny’s eagerness from a mile away.

 

“Nervous?” asked Edward with a smirk as he sauntered into the room.

 

“Perhaps a little,” Carlisle admitted.

 

And rightly so.

 

Carlisle hadn’t wanted to burden Esme with his worry on her special day…or rather _evening,_ but the absence of Flanagan’s wrath thus far had worried him.

 

And she did like to make a scene.

 

“Perhaps we should have invited her?” Carlisle said at last, fiddling with his cufflinks.

 

Edward was to in-tune with his maker to need to ask to whom he was referring.

 

“Perhaps,” he answered truthfully. “It’s a little like the evil queen in sleeping beauty, isn’t it?”

 

“Exactly,” Carlisle said darkly, not exactly recalling the story, but knowing it had something to do with curses and scorned witches - not at all promising.

 

Perhaps he’d made a mistake.

 

“Esme’s happy, Carlisle,” Edward said, knowing what doubts must be in his maker’s mind. “You make her happy.”

 

Carlisle still looked worried.

 

“And Flanagan doesn’t know where we are!” Edward cried, exasperated, before Carlisle hushed him fugitively.

 

The much younger man rolled his handsome green eyes.

 

“We could be Siberia for all she knows.”

 

Carlisle conceded with a nod.

 

However, as the guests arrived, this was proven false by the delivery of two rather enormous boxes into the hallway.

 

“What is the meaning of this?” Queen Tanya demanded imperiously.

 

“Gifts, m’lady,” the man said, wordlessly handing Tanya a letter addressed to the groom.

 

Carlisle’s heart plummeted as he recognised the curving script.

 

He tore the corner off the letter trying to open it, so much were his hands shaking.

 

 _Dear Dr Cullen,_ it read.

 

_I write to congratulate you on your marriage to my human, Beatrice._

 

_I hope that my wedding present arrives intact, I deeply mistrust this so-called “Postal Service”. I also hope that Beatrice likes the bird bath and the bee hive, I know how much she, though not as much as yourself, loves wildlife._

 

_My third wedding gift is my declination of the invitation to your wedding, as if I were to attend, I am afraid I may find it necessary to deliver you the true death and your bride does not deserve that after all that she has been through. Her miscarriage and ensuing suicide attempt were unjust punishment enough for such a good person, both of which I notice you neglected to prevent._

 

_I know_ _exactly_ _what you did._

 

_You will ensure that Beatrice has a happy life and I invite you to be content with your little family, grab death by the horns, as it were, and live every night as if it your last. Which it might very well be._

 

_What you did when you poured your blood into her I will never forget, and I most certainly will not forgive. You may be above such things as laws but there are other ways to get revenge and, sooner or later, I_ _will_ _have it._

 

_Again, best wishes to you, and your dear progeny Edward, and I hope that your wedding finds good weather, I know how it has a tendency to snow terribly in Alaska._

 

_Yours sincerely,_

 

_Ms N. Flanagan._

 

Carlisle and Edward shared a long look of horror, though Tanya huffed as she plucked the letter out of the doctor’s hands and read it.

 

“Clearly someone blabbed,” she said. “But we can deal with it. No way she has the resources to defeat those in my nest. And besides…”

 

She gestured out of the window where the stream of their mutual friends were starting to arrive.

 

“We will all fight with you if it comes to it.”

 

“It won’t come to it,” Eleazar said. “Roman contacted me and said he’d made it very plain. Flanagan faces the true death if she lays a finger on you.”

 

Carlisle let out a shaky breath.

 

“Thank you, my friends,” he breathed.

 

“Besides,” Edward said. “Once Esme’s your progeny, there really isn’t anything Flanagan can do.”

 

“True,” boomed a voice from the hallway. 

 

Siobhan, the rather outspoken vampire who had a permanent residence near Dublin had obviously managed to make the long trip to see Carlisle married.

 

The doctor strode forward to embrace his friend.

 

“But that’s not to say she won’t try,” Siobhan said, releasing Carlisle, who was much smaller than she was. “Raised _hell_ back home in Ireland, I can tell you. The poor Catholic Church…”

 

She shook her head sadly.

 

“But count us in. If you need allies,” Siobhan continued, gesturing to the small group of vampires behind her of her bloodline. “She really is lovely, your Esme.”

 

“She is, isn’t she?” Carlisle agreed breathlessly.

 

“And now it’s time to marry her, Carlisle,” Kate said, appearing with a grin looking very elegant. “We’ve just finished her hair, and she’s not the most patient of creatures, I can tell you.”

 

And from there, it happened in something of a daze of white and smiles. Carlisle could barely concentrate on what was being said in the face of the most beautiful woman in the world.

 

“I pronounce you, man and wife,” the priest was saying. “You may kiss the bride.”

 

Carlisle obliged, hesitantly at first but then firmer as Esme pressed her warm palm to his cheek.

 

And she had looked _so_ perfect walking down the aisle, his wife.

 

“I love you,” she whispered.

 

“I love you…” he replied fervently, as the room erupted into rapturous applause and they were led into another room for the reception, where a large pile of gifts stood ready to be devoured by the doctor’s new wife.

 

“Oooh! I _say!”_ Esme cried excitedly, and headed for the presents.

 

She opened gifts from all her guests, exclaiming politely with joy at each new thing, until her audience had departed to dance and only two presents were left.

 

Esme gleefully untied the ribbons and peered into the boxes.

 

“Oh wow…” she sighed.

 

Oddly, she felt her eyes fill with tears.

 

“Esme, what is it?” Carlisle asked anxiously.

 

Esme covered her mouth and shook her head. Honestly, she didn’t really know.

 

It was like a forgotten memory.

 

Tenderly, Esme brushed the tissue paper off a beautiful raised basin with roses carved into the sides.

 

In the next crate, there was a sturdy wooden bee hive, which looked surprisingly cosy, and Esme could very well imagine all the little bees tucked up nice and warm in it.

 

What bizarre gifts! 

 

She was going to be a vampire soon, which the sender must very well have known, but there was something hopelessly…hopeful about the whole thing. Like she could know life even in death. 

 

Even in death, the baby birds would live in Esme’s garden and it would be full of well-pollenated flowers. She would still, in some way, be alive.

 

“There’s no note,” she whispered. “W-who are these from?”

 

Carlisle’s face would have been ashen had he been human. As it was, he just looked grave, and impossibly sad. The guilt had become too much to bear.

 

“Esme,” he said hollowly. “I have to tell you something.”

 

He paused.

 

“These were sent by-”

 

“Aro, weren’t they?” Edward said loudly, appearing jauntily around the doorway. “Jolly kind of him.”

 

He eyed Carlisle sternly.

 

_You idiot._

 

“Yes,” Carlisle said, recovering himself a little.

 

“Well please thank him for me,” Esme breathed tearfully. “However did he know?”

 

“How indeed?” Carlisle said softly, because he certainly wouldn’t have done.

 

The presents made it difficult to tell himself he had done the right thing by keeping her for himself. He’d obviously greatly underestimated the bond that she and Nan had shared. Perhaps Esme would have been happier with Flanagan after all?

 

Therefore, as the guests vanished into the night (probably off to Anchorage for either a piss-up or a good human meal) and Edward clapped him on the shoulder, despite being her husband under God (ignoring the other one, who was still legally so but had been deemed unfit), he took his Esme to bed feeling guilty.

 

However, he soon felt less so as Esme showed him proudly the thin lacy masterpiece she had sewn to go underneath the wedding dress and they completely lost themselves in one another.

 

“Carlisle,” Esme said softly after the storm had passed, tracing a delicate seam from his chin to his ear with her thumb, marvelling at how beautiful he was. 

 

In return he grinned, and pulled her a little closer.

 

“Esme,” he murmured. “Esme Cullen.”

 

Esme giggled. 

 

“I am!” she said happily. “I keep forgetting! A new year and a new name!”

 

“You’ll have many, many years to get used to it,” Carlisle whispered, his face sobering as the weight of what Esme wanted him to do hit him.

 

“Yes,” she said, locking his blue eyes with her brown ones, enormous with sincerity. “I will.”

 

Carlisle sighed.

 

“Esme, I can’t do this to you,” he said, his earlier doubts forefront in his mind. “You belong in the sun, in the light. You deserve children. You deserve family. Life.”

 

“Carlisle, you are the only one who can truly give me all of those things,” she said earnestly. “And I’m not afraid. I could never be afraid with you.”

 

In the ultimate gesture of trust, she shifted so she could tilt her creamy neck to her vampire. Hurt husband, now. And soon her equal.

 

“Please…”

 

“Esme,” Carlisle said seriously. “You do know I love you?”

 

She smiled.

 

“Completely and absolutely,” she whispered. “As I love you…”

 

“Let’s have forever…”

 

“Forever…”

 

And with a sweep of lips and the bursting crush of tooth on flesh, Esme died.


	13. Chapter 13

**Seattle, January 1921**

 

Mr Charles Platt was recovering from the overindulgence of his first ever Christmas alone. 

 

Alone, you say? Yes, alone. Because his _whore_ of a wife had run away with another man.

 

He curled his hand into a fist, remembering how he had done the same around that fucking letter the man had left in exchange for Charles’ _very own wife,_ before Mr Platt had ripped it in two and thrown it in the fire, destroying all evidence that Beatrice had ever left him, before going on a rampage of the apartment to destroy any evidence that she had ever existed…though she had moved from New York with very little in the way of personal things and had taken most of them when she…when she…

 

Charles wiped the tears angrily from his eyes and took a shuddering breath and a swig of whiskey.

 

Even the evidence that he’d been right all along about the slut hadn’t taken the sting off her final act of cruelty. 

 

And how cruel she had been! 

 

So beautiful so _deserving,_ and from the moment her parents had given her to him,

Charles had known he’d never be good enough, earn enough, be able to give her enough.

 

He hoped that Dr…gah! What was his fucking name? Might be able to make the bitch happy, even when no other man could, when she was just _impossible_ to please.

 

Charles reached for the letter, to remind himself of the bastard’s name then realised he’d burnt it nearly five months ago after his wife had disappeared.

 

Yes, _disappeared._

 

Nobody had seen head or tail of her since she had gone and, had Charles gone to the police, they would have been rather worried by the lack of evidence that his wife was willing to leave her home with the other man.

 

But there was no way Charles could have gone to them! They would have laughed at him! What kind of man would be so unworthy that his wife would flee with a stranger just to be rid of him?

 

Another wave of tears stung in Charles’ eyes. Perhaps he had been to hard on her? 

 

He remembered the feeling of her warm little chest as his knuckles hit it and felt a ripple of shame.

 

Fuck! 

 

Why did she always push him to violence? To taunt him?

 

Charles thought of the disgrace that would have befallen him, and did not regret the decision to tell no one about Beatrice’s flight - not his workmates, not his mother, not the landlord. Nobody.

 

That’s not to say, however, that nobody _knew._

 

There was a knock on the door.

 

Charles’ heart hammered and he immediately felt the jolt of anger he felt whenever something unexpected happened.

 

Neglecting to put away his contraband bottle of whiskey, Charles lit his pipe and muttered his way, bitterly, to the door to tell whoever the hell it was to get lost.

 

However, Charles found himself quite unable to do so as the door opened to reveal a woman in the same league as the Hollywood stars that his wife had been so abnormally obsessed with.

 

And this woman was _alone._

 

The beautiful blonde smiled at his clearly handsome face and he felt a wave of alcoholic optimism wash over him. 

 

What woman could resist him?

 

“Mr Charles Platt?” she asked, her voice possibly more beautiful than her face.

 

Charles nodded mutely.

 

“Excellent,” smiled the woman. “My name is Nan Flanagan.”

 

So it is, thought Charles, drunken imagination boring greedily underneath her clothes.

 

She smiled wider. 

 

Obviously she was very much in love with him. 

 

She raised an eyebrow, her face moulding into an expression that was hard to interpret, to speak a single sentence.

 

“May I come in?”


	14. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little point for those who don’t know: Victoria is the vampire in Twilight whose mate/partner was killed by the Cullen family to protect Bella (the main character - at this point Edward’s ‘human’). Victoria is NOT a fan of the Cullen family, that I can tell you…
> 
> …And in case the flipping back and forth in time was confusing:
> 
> January 1921 - Nan and Beatrice meet.
> 
> February 1921 - Nan and Beatrice become firm friends and their relationship progresses…perhaps slightly beyond what is proper…
> 
> March 1921 - Beatrice leaves New York with Charles.
> 
> August 1921 - Nan tasks Carlisle with finding Beatrice and Beatrice meets Carlisle. Carlisle invites Bea to live with him and she never sees Charles again.
> 
> September 1921 (a busy month) - Beatrice loses her baby thanks to Charles’ brutality, attempts suicide, and Nan Flanagan discovers where she is. Nan finds out about the relationship between Esme and Carlisle and, thinking that it is not consensual, goes to the Authority to demand Carlisle’s head. She is refused and decides to take matters into her own hands. Esme (the name Beatrice now goes by) and Carlisle go to Alaska to escape Nan (though Bea doesn’t know this).
> 
> October 1921 - Nan goes to Alaska, sees Beatrice/Esme is happy and decides to let her marry Carlisle.
> 
> December 1921 - Esme and Carlisle marry and Esme is changed into a vampire by Carlisle to become his progeny.
> 
> January 1922 - Nan kills Charles with the backing of the Suffrage group she took over after Beatrice left New York. Charles’ body is found.
> 
> February 1922 - Investigations into Charles Platt’s murder are ongoing and Nan approaches the detectives with her untrue story.
> 
> March 1922 - The warrant goes out for Carlisle and Edward’s arrest for the kidnap of Esme and the murder of Charles.
> 
> And many, many years later…

**Louisiana, July 2008**

 

Esme is introduced to the joys, and trials, of motherhood, as the Cullen teens become the family she thought she would never have. 

 

And even after Carlisle’s blood wanes in her body, she’s still devoted to him, and he to her. And they are very happy.

 

But not completely happy.

 

Carlisle wants them to move around a lot, and his heart jumps into his throat every time he sees someone who resembles the blonde horror, despite Roman Zimojic’s assurances that Nan is out of the country.

 

Plus, Esme never forgets the first vampire she ever met and even the ever-empathic Jasper doesn’t know why his mother burst into floods of noisy, inconsolable tears in the middle of the Cullen family’s pristine living room when some blonde vampire featured on CNN that night announced her launching of the peaceful campaign for vampire rights, debating Politicians and Church leaders galore.

 

Meanwhile, Nan’s in for a pretty damn lonely eighty years.

 

Prior to the Great Revelation, there’s the Weimar Republic, then the USSR, and briefly Vietnam to cheer her up. Though even after she’s seen such slaughter, the vision of a woman clutching her leaflets earnestly to her chest in the New York evening, _still_ makes Nan need to kill something. 

 

If only…If _only…_

 

 

 

“Um…Ms Flanagan…?” repeats the producer nervously.

 

The vampire’s eyes snap up.

 

She blinks her eyes a few times to bring herself to the present, to the smart dressing room that belongs to her while she prepares for the evening’s television debate. Who will she be facing, again?

 

“Sorry!” she laughs charmingly, recovering quickly. “I was in my own world. When am I on?”

 

“Ten minutes,” the human male replies, relieved that his interruption of her private thoughts wasn’t taken too sorely. “Mr and Mrs Newlin are almost ready.”

 

Nan hides her grimace with a polite nod.

 

“Thank you, I’ll be right out.”

 

The man gratefully retreats, hearing his dismissal for what it is, leaving Nan alone in the dressing room.

 

She looks at her reflection - so familiar but yet the artful layers of foundation and highlighter on her cheeks never fail to startle her. 

 

She may look more alive this way, but certainly less real. 

 

She raises a sarcastic eyebrow at her reflection. Mary Pickford, indeed.

 

Perhaps this isn’t the life she would have chosen - the coldness, the professionalism and the harsh wash of studio lighting are like an icy wind every night.

 

And she is _hated._

 

 _Very_ badly hated by a lot of people.

 

But that doesn’t matter. It isn’t for herself she’s doing this. 

 

She straightens the lapels of her suit jacket over the ache in her chest and takes a deep, unnecessary breath.

 

“This is for you, Bea,” she whispers quietly, hoping that whatever happened to Beatrice in the end, wherever she is, whoever she’s become, there’s a chance she might be watching.

 

…And if not, Nan’s sure there are other ways to get Mrs Cullen’s attention.

 

_But, ah! Speak of the devil!_

 

The phone on the table top buzzes, and, answering the call, Nan has to steel herself so that the triumph isn’t too obvious in her voice.

 

“So…I take it you’ve thought about my offer,” she says to her caller. “Good. And we aren’t the only ones…”

 

With a whirl of perfume and pearls, the chair is empty as Nan strides out of the room, gripping the phone to her ear.

 

“I think an arrangement could benefit the both of us,” she continues. “After all, we both want the same thing…”

 

A smile slides over the vampire’s face.

 

_“…Victoria.”_

 

 

Nan terminates the call.

 

It’s showtime.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DUMDUMDUUUUUUUM!
> 
> So, that’s it for this story. There may be a sequel one day, there may not be.
> 
> And what did you think? If you feel like it, please leave me a comment and tell me if you found this effective or not - I’m sure it was confusing at times. Hell, I confused myself!
> 
> Also, I hope my use of the characters was okay and I’d be interested to know who you think deserved Beatrice/Esme the most and whether she was in fact playing both Nan and Carlisle and was quite selfish and shallow, because it could be read like that. Or, alternatively, if any of it was real at all, or just a manipulation using vampire blood and guilt.
> 
> Even I don’t know…
> 
> Finally, thank you so much for reading, commenting, leaving kudos, bookmarking and subscribing because this is a fic. I got really passionate about and your support means a great deal.
> 
> Y’all are the best!
> 
> Fiona :)


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